Speed Demons
by QoS
Summary: The 28s meme starring the Stunticons. Some chapters related, a few contain slash. Battles and Shakespeare, tricks and imprisonment, Autobots and their own flaws... nothing stands in the way when the 'con cars - and truck - hit the road.
1. Greedy

_Chapter 1 summary: The Stunticons decide to star in a film, and hijinks ensue. _

_Takes place shortly after "The Girl Who Loved Wildrider". This fic was inspired by a real (and talented) filmmaker, Taipan Kiryu. Much thanks for your encouragement and feedback!_

* * *

**1. Greedy: No business like show business  
**

It was Wildrider's bright idea. _But then again,_ Dead End thought, _anything insane we get involved in can be traced back to Wildrider._

Of course, it had sounded mildly interesting at the start, which was why Dead End had allowed himself to be persuaded. Having a film made of the Stunticons sounded like a brief change from the ennui of existence. And even though the film would disintegrate eventually and be a waste of all their effort, he couldn't help liking the idea of trained humans going over him carefully to make sure he looked as good as possible for the cameras. Yes, that part would be… acceptable.

"My intakes are clogged." Drag Strip had been the first to agree when Wildrider made his crazy suggestion, but the further out they got into the desert, the less enthusiastic he was. "Why'd they want to meet us here, anyway?"

"Human entertainment is officially prohibited from portraying Decepticons as anything other than a hostile force which is eventually defeated." Dead End didn't particularly enjoy so much off-road driving – did he look like a dune buggy? – but there wasn't much point in getting their potential producer, director and screenwriter picked up by government agents before the film was even finished.

"Well, we could've met them in the dark! Or pretended to take 'em prisoner." Drag Strip's grumbling was abruptly cut off as he hit some obstruction under the sand and bounced away hard.

Wildrider laughed. "We're nearly there, okay? And they'll have some gas for us. Premium unleaded!"

Drag Strip complained that he preferred energon to fossil fuels, and Dead End tried to tune out the griping (Wildrider just turned his radio on as loud as it would go). He was starting to think Breakdown had the right idea in refusing to participate, but before he could back out as well, a fleck of metallic blue came into sight in the distance.

"That's them!" Wildrider yelled, as excitedly as if spotting a squad of Autobots.

Since that always ranged from a possibility to a probability, Dead End turned his combat radar on and took a desultory look. No sign of Autobots; that was probably an actual pickup, and as they drew closer to it, he decided that it just might be more likely to reach the scrapheap before they did. He hoped the humans would take better care of their actors than their own vehicle.

"Hey there!" Wildrider screamed, and the two heads that had been peeking over the hood of the pickup immediately ducked back down. Drag Strip snickered and raced ahead, just as Dead End had expected him to do; he stopped in a cloud of dust and transformed a second before Wildrider reached him. The humans had stopped their pickup in the shadow of a cliff, so Dead End looked up at it, gauged the possibility of a rockslide killing them all and sighed as he braked to a halt.

Wildrider leaned over the pickup's hood and waved cheerfully at the two humans. "Hi, we're the Stunticons! Swindle said you guys were looking for some 'cons to make a film with, and we're interested."

"Provided we're well compensated for our time," Drag Strip said, stepping to the other side of the truck so that the humans were between him and Wildrider. He folded his arms and stared down at the humans as if trying to drill holes in them with his optics. "And it had better be a _good_ film. None of this 'Attack of the alien robots who get their afts kicked by the brave fleshbags' crap."

The humans looked from him to Wildrider as if considering the merits of a film about ducks or kittens instead, but after a long moment one of them got to her feet, though she still held on to the side of the pickup. "I- I'm Stephanie Kain," she said.

Dead End looked at her with mild curiosity; he wasn't sure if she was attractive by human standards or not, because most of his attention was drawn to a distinctive purplish splotch that covered her right cheek. _Probably a birthmark,_ he thought after a moment, _rather than a symptom of some terrible disease that will kill her soon._

"This is my director, Tony Cabral," she said, indicating the man beside her. He looked more symmetrical, Dead End decided. "It's, uh, very nice to meet you."

Tony reached for a clipboard and a pencil. "Yeah, nice." He turned and looked up at the nearest Stunticon, Drag Strip. "Can I get your name?"

Drag Strip looked as though he wanted to be addressed in a far more respectful way, but before he could say anything, Wildrider introduced them all. Tony wrote "Drag Strip" on one sheet of paper, "Wildrider" on the second and "Dead End" on the third, then frowned down at the clipboard.

"Swindle said there are more of you," he said without looking up from the pencil flicking over the paper.

"There are," Dead End said. _But Breakdown would short out your cameras if you somehow managed to get him in front of them, and Motormaster would drive over you. _"But you'll be dealing with just the three of us."

Tony raised his brows. "Then I take it we won't be able to get the merging thing on film?"

Wildrider burst out laughing. "You want Menasor? He'll slag you worse than the boss will!"

Dead End brushed dust from the side of the cliff and sat down beside it, leaning back as comfortably as he could against the smooth rock. "Our combined form can't be easily controlled, and I'm going to assume you don't want to die for your art. Though we all have to die anyway, and I suppose there are worse reasons to do so."

"The three of you will be fine." Stephanie pulled herself up on to the pickup's hood and sat with her legs dangling. "Please help yourself – all the gas cans in the back are full."

Drag Strip gave the cans a disdainful look. "I take either energon or cash."

Stephanie looked taken aback. "Uh…." She produced a pocketbook, opened it and held it out to Drag Strip tentatively. "I'm sorry, but all I have is five dollars. Swindle said we'd just have to give you the best quality gas we could find – he didn't say anything about energon or cash."

Dead End chuckled. "Take her five dollars, Drag Strip. Buy yourself some bubble gum."

Drag Strip's visor brightened briefly as he glared, first at Dead End and then down at the two humans. "Fine, you can pay me the next time we meet."

Tony and Stephanie exchanged glances as if to ask, _Who decided there'll be a next time?_ and then Stephanie cleared her throat. "Sure, no problem. But first we'll have to decide on what exactly we'll be hiring you for."

"As actors, right?" Wildrider said. "We heard you wanna make a movie starring the fastest, best-looking 'con cars. That's us."

"But we may not need the same amount of screen time from all of you. One of you might get a starring role, depending on what kind of film we make." She studied them critically. "I wanted to meet you before I started work on the script, to have an idea of what we could do--"

"Back that up a bit," Drag Strip said. "If one of us is getting a starring role, it'll be me."

Tony flipped over a page on his clipboard and his pencil traced rapid lines over the next page. Dead End was starting to be curious about what he was doing, but he was still cooling off from the drive, and demanding that the human hand the clipboard over was just too much work.

"Are you the Stunticon leader, then?" Stephanie said.

Drag Strip opened his mouth, shut it again and muttered something nearly inaudible. Wildrider grinned and cupped a hand behind his audial. "What was that, sunshine? 'Not yet'?"

"Shut up and let's talk script," Drag Strip gritted out. "You need ideas, I got one. Do something like _Days of Thunder_, with me as the main character."

_What about me and Wildrider? _Dead End thought – he felt too apathetic to actually ask it. Besides, when Drag Strip was on an ego trip, it would be wasted effort anyway.

The humans seemed to be seriously considering the suggestion/demand, though he wasn't sure if that was because they agreed with it or whether they'd realized that humoring a Stunticon fully capable of smearing them into the sand was prudent. "We could get a lot of action scenes," Stephanie said after a moment. "Swindle told us you can all do amazing stunt moves when you change into cars."

"Yeah, we could save millions of dollars on CGI and stuntwork," Tony said dryly.

Stephanie drummed her fingers on the hood of the pickup. "True, but it's the characters I want to get a fix on now. I'm not making one of those soulless epics that are all flash and no substance."

_A tale full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,_ Dead End thought.

"Okay, you want a fix on me?" It was clear that Drag Strip didn't quite understand what was meant by that, but equally clear that he wouldn't let that faze him. "Fine, what did you wanna know?"

"Not so much you as the guy who'll drive you," Stephanie said. "I'm thinking a washed-up alcoholic former pro racer who takes a last chance and realizes that his salvation lies in his equally outdated car. In more ways than one."

"Equally outdated?" Wildrider almost doubled over, and each time he looked at Drag Strip, he started giggling again.

"Could the car be sentient, Steph?" Tony said, looking interested for the first time. "We can have a Calvin and Hobbes dynamic going – to everyone else, it's just an old wreck, but to him it's as alive and real as… as the bottle of Jack and all the dreams that drowned in it."

"Oh, I'll remember that line. The question is, does he win in the end?"

"Depends – are we going for uplift or pathos?"

"Why not both? I'm thinking a kind of 'I coulda been a contender' moment, followed by--"

"Stop right there!" Drag Strip raised his voice, and they both started. He glowered at them. "First, I'm supposed to win, got that? No win, no film. Second, if you want an outdated wreck, go to the Ark. I'm the fastest, toughest, sleekest racecar ever to be created, and that's exactly what I'm going to be in the film too. Last of all, any humans try to get behind _my_ controls, they better hope they're impervious to lasers. And high-speed impacts. And gravity."

_I knew coming out here would be a waste of time._ Dead End made himself more comfortable against the cliff and pulled an e-book out of his data files. He would have liked to recharge a little, but he felt sure that the meeting could only end in violence and bloodshed, which was sure to wake him up.

"Hey, I want a part too," he heard Wildrider say. "I mean, this _was_ my idea."

"Yeah, and it's turned out to be a real bright one," Drag Strip said. "Why don't you be the villain?"

"Okay, I'll be the villain!" Wildrider said happily. "Hey Stephanie, can I drop Drag Strip into a pool of carbonite and hang him up in my throne room? Say yes! Please? I'll give you a ride if you say yes."

Dead End looked away from his e-book long enough to say, "I suggest you not take him up on that offer."

"Don't worry, I'm not too interested in being sued by Lucasfilm." Stephanie tilted her head to one side and looked at Dead End in a considering way. "You know, you've got an attractive voice."

Dead End had always known he was the best-looking of the Stunticons, but it had never occurred to him that he was as vocally pleasing as he was aesthetic. Then again, squishies usually ran when they heard 'cons, rather than sticking around to compare the relative merits of their voices and appreciating his low, cultured, faintly accented drawl.

"Thank you," he said. A Decepticon accepted the respect (and even adulation) of humans as the norm, so he wasn't going to show any more gratitude than what was polite.

Tony looked up from his clipboard. "A Porsche might be more accessible to the better half of the audience than a racecar, too."

"Thank you. I think."

Drag Strip looked torn between confusion and irritation. "What better half? And what's wrong with a racecar?"

Tony didn't seem to hear him. "Steph," he said, "stop me if this sounds totally crazy, but… what about a remake of something Shakespeare?"

_Oh,_ Dead End thought. _Now that's more appropriate. No special effects, no cars flipping and crashing in flames. Just a grand panoply of tragedy, bleak and elegant, bowing to the inevitability of fate and accepting that the curtain always, always falls in the end. Life imitates Art._

Stephanie's eyes took on a faraway look. "Inspired," she said after a moment. "Shakespeare, acted out by Decepticons. The ancient meeting the modern, the quintessential humanity of the story contrasted with the alienness of the actors. Tony, I think we've got it!"

Tony grinned. "Which one, though?"

"Leslie Howard and Norma Shearer, 1936," Stephanie said. "Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey, 1968. Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes, 1996."

_Oh dear,_ Dead End thought. _Male/female pairs. Does that mean…_

"Don't forget _West Side Story_," Tony said.

"Whatever it is, I want the lead role." Drag Strip looked impatient with the recitation of names and dates. "I might not have a prissy voice, but at least I won't get into a depressed funk and hold up your filming for weeks."

"Of course you can have the lead role," Dead End said, trying not to sound as though he was snickering behind his mask. "In fact, I insist on it."

Drag Strip was self-centered and demanding but not stupid; his optics brightened again. "What's the film called again?"

"_Romeo and Juliet,_" Stephanie said, and Dead End sent a quick private radio transmission to Wildrider to fill him in on the plot of that one.

"And what will my role be?" Drag Strip still seemed suspicious.

_Better make it sound good._ "You'll play Romeo, the scion of a noble house who wins a duel with a master swordsman."

"Oh." Drag Strip looked mollified. "That sounds okay. Swords, huh? Just like Motormaster." He grinned, imitated drawing a weapon and struck what he no doubt thought of as a dramatic duelling pose.

_Perhaps he believes Juliet is the master swordsman_, Dead End thought.

"You lose your heart to the only daughter of a rival house," Stephanie explained, "but things go terribly wrong. In the end you're banished from your home and you take your own life because you mistakenly believe your true love is dead."

Drag Strip froze in place, arm extended with the imaginary sword still in it and looking as though he wished the sword was real so he could fall on it_. _"There isn't enough energon in the entire galaxy to make me do that," he said finally, disgust filling his voice.

"Why not?" Dead End said. "Romeo is hot-tempered, impulsive, immature… the part was written for you! Just one question. Who'll play your beloved Juliet?"

"Not me, that's for sure." Wildrider pursed up his mouth as if thinking carefully. "How 'bout Astrotrain?"

"Not bad… we could cut to footage of Astrotrain entering a tunnel at the moment when the two of them, uh, consummate their marriage. Though maybe it should be someone smaller he can lift in his arms when they kiss. Perhaps Rumble?"

"I'm going to scrap both of you losers--"

Stephanie was grinning too, but she drove one heel into the side of the pickup, making a loud _clang_ that interrupted Drag Strip. "What if we get one of the Autobots to play Juliet? A plague on both your houses!"

"That might be amusing." Dead End couldn't help it; he was starting to enjoy himself. "I nominate Tracks or Powerglide."

"I wanna play anyone who gets to laugh his aft off at Drag Strip and his Autobot boyfriend--" Wildrider began, then ducked a roundhouse swing. Drag Strip had clearly been expecting that response, though, and he kicked out viciously. Wildrider caught his foot, but before he could twist it in a hard dislocating action, Drag Strip flung himself forward and the two of them crashed down in a laughing, cursing, struggling heap.

Stephanie hopped down from the pickup and both she and Tony put plenty of space between themselves and the wrestling match. "I just hope we can afford the cast," she said, a little anxiously.

Dead End had already decided that he wouldn't need as much payment to appear in the film as Drag Strip evidently would; of all the Stunticons, he was the most careful with whatever money he got his hands on, and tended to invest it. Breakdown had once asked him why, since he expected to die at any moment, and Dead End had replied that there was nothing on the planet worth spending money on except for cleaning supplies and good literature (which he could either steal or download). Still, there was no need to let Stephanie know that.

"Let me see that," he said to Tony, and held out a hand for the clipboard.

The human hesitated, then handed it over slowly. Dead End smiled behind the mask. _When we're shooting, you might be the director and I might have to do as you say, but any other time, you're the human and I'm the Decepticon._ Half the fights within his team were to establish or maintain a pecking order and make sure everyone knew his place in it.

The clipboard was ridiculously small in his hand, but he didn't need to use his optics' zoom function to see what was on the papers. Under Wildrider's neatly-lettered name were two sketches of him, full-faced and in profile. They were quickly done and didn't show every detail, but it was still unmistakeably Wildrider.

Carefully, so as not to tear the pages, Dead End looked at the next page and the third. The drawings on the last page were of him – exact and in perspective, he decided, even though no pencil sketch could capture the exact shade of his deep-red paint and the way light reflected off his polished armor.

"What is the purpose of this?" he said, keeping his tone and posture neutral. He didn't worry about his expression giving anything away; very little was visible except for his mask and visor.

Tony swallowed, evidently unnerved. "We – uh, we like to get headshots of actors or do preliminary screen tests, but we didn't know if you'd be up for those right away."

Dead End studied the clipboard for a moment longer, just enough to allow the human time to sweat. Wildrider and Drag Strip seemed to be disentangling themselves, though, so he spoke quickly before they could hear him. "Can you paint me as well? And make it, oh, five times larger? I could waive part of my fee for that."

Stephanie looked hopeful, and Tony all but sagged in relief as he took his clipboard back. "I suppose so," he said. "Watercolors or oil paints?"

"…Both."

* * *

_The story continues in Chapter 3..._


	2. Naive

_Takes place just over a year after "The Girl Who Loved Wildrider", contains spoilers for that story._

**

* * *

2. Naïve: Good intentions  
**

_Case Number_: MP 65.02.83062

_Incident_: Robbery/Assault

_Responding Officer_: Louise Chen

On May 15, 2002, at 10:20 pm, I was dispatched to a Robbery call at 128 Bakersfeld Drive, Santa Cruz, California. On arrival, I met the victim, Daniel Pacey. He was bruised and in distress, but declined an ambulance.

Mr Pacey stated that the incident had happened twenty to thirty minutes before I had arrived. As he was returning to his residence, he was confronted by a perpetrator or perpetrators on his driveway with a demand that he surrender his assistance dog. When he refused to comply, he was struck with a blunt object, which caused him to fall. He believes the dog was then removed and placed in a vehicle which immediately departed the scene. Being visually impaired, Mr Pacey was unable to provide a description…

* * *

The party had been so much fun that Geri hadn't had the energy to unwrap her presents even after all her friends left. That was all right, though. She decided to open them the next day, which would feel like stretching her birthday out even longer, and her father stacked them neatly on her bedside table, where she could touch them and hear the crackle of paper and ribbons if she stretched out her hand.

She pulled on her pajamas, flipped open the face of her Braille watch and felt for the time. Well past eleven… but then again, she could stay up late since she was officially thirteen now. _Not a kid any more,_ she thought, though she decided she would wait until her next birthday to stop wearing her comfortable old Winnie the Pooh pajamas.

She climbed into bed and drew the blanket up to her chin, thinking of the sleepover she would have at her best friend's house the next day. Really, there was no way the weekend could get any better.

A hard tapping sound came from outside the window.

Geri sat up sharply, awake at once. _Is that…_

Again the noise came, the muffled thud of metal on brick. Geri scrambled out of bed at once, feeling the soft rug under her bare feet, and hurried to the window. It was enough of a miracle that her visitor had managed to approach her house without rousing the entire neighborhood; she couldn't expect him to keep thumping without either waking her father up or breaking through the wall or both.

She fumbled with the window and slid it up. "Wildrider?" she said in a whisper.

"Happy birthday, kiddo!" Wildrider said, as loudly as if she had been deaf as well as blind.

Geri shushed him hastily, though she felt herself smile as she did so; she couldn't help being pleased that he had actually come all that way just for her birthday. She'd asked him once when his birthday was, but being Wildrider, he didn't remember. "Thank you," she said, wondering if there was some protocol or manners among Decepticons to be followed under such circumstances. "I'm glad you're here."

"Oh, you'll be even happier when you get your present then," Wildrider said. "Can you come down here?"

_A present?_ "Um, couldn't you just hand the present to me?"

"Better not. There's already been one, uh, waste expulsion incident in your back yard. I don't want it to do the same thing in your room."

_Waste expulsion incident?_ Geri was suddenly filled with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension that was entirely normal when she was around Wildrider. "All right," she said, then thought of the security system that her father had installed about a year ago. "Would you help me down?"

She sat on the window-sill and swung her legs over the edge. Her bare feet touched warm metal that closed around her as she pushed off, and she was on the ground a moment later. "It's coming up to you," Wildrider said.

Geri went to one knee and stretched a hand out tentatively. Her fingers brushed thick fur and then a wet tongue flicked against her skin.

"A dog?" she said, hardly able to believe it. It was the last gift she would have expected Wildrider to give her… and how in the world would she explain it to her father? She couldn't say the dog had just wandered up to their house.

"Yup." Metal components shifted and slid against each other and when Wildrider continued, the sound of his voice was a fraction closer, so she could tell he had knelt as well. "I heard that some blind people have dogs to help them find their way around and cross roads and stuff, so now you've got one too."

_Wait, this is a guide dog? _Geri reached out her other hand and touched the hard rectangular shape of a halter, then ran her fingers gently over the dog's head. Its leash had been wrapped around its muzzle so it could breathe but not bark.

"How – how did you get him?" she said. She couldn't imagine Guide Dogs for the Blind handing over one of their animals to a Stunticon.

"Uh, that part's not really important. D'you like him? You can give him a name."

Geri stood up. "He already has a name, Wildrider. It's Buddy. I can feel it on his tag." Her heart sank slowly. "Where's his owner?"

"I can't remember."

"Then we'll have to take him to the nearest police station."

"But… why is it always the nearest police station with you?" Wildrider sounded genuinely frustrated, and after a moment he continued more quietly. "I thought you'd like him, kiddo."

"I do, honestly." And it was true; Geri could feel the dog's tail wagging, and he kept pushing his nose against her other hand. She crushed an impulse to put her arms around him and press her cheek to soft warm fur. "But he belongs to someone else, another blind person. It would be wrong to--"

"He used to belong to someone else. He's yours now."

_No point in talking about what's right or wrong; that makes no difference._ She had to take another tack. "The other thing with guide dogs is, they bond with their owners. It's a really strong connection, and it can't just – just shift to another person. Buddy's a wonderful dog, but it's his original owner he'll respond to and love, not me."

There was a pause. "They're really bonded to just one person? Like Soundwave and his cassettes?"

"You haven't mentioned him before so I have no idea who he is, but yes. Exactly."

Wildrider made a noncommital sound, and Geri continued to scratch behind the dog's ears as she waited for him to think it out. "I guess you know more about this stuff than I do," he said finally.

Geri nodded, relieved. "I'll come with you to the police station," she said, hoping Wildrider hadn't run over Buddy's owner to get the dog. "And we don't need to stick around – we'll just drive by and let him out."

"Okay." Wildrider sounded as though he was starting to cheer up. "I'll get you something else instead. Drag Strip said you'd love one of these dogs and that I could get one really easily this way."

"Oh, Drag Strip said that, did he?" Geri had been raised to speak politely, which included not criticizing anyone's family to them, but she couldn't help the edge in her voice when she replied.

And Wildrider sounded a little different too. "Yeah… he did." There was a sharp realization in his tone, and Geri thought that no matter how off-kilter he might be when it came to humans, he was a bit quicker on the uptake with other 'cons.

"You might want to explain guide dogs to him when you get back home," she said, wrapping Buddy's leash around her hand.

"Yeah, I will," Wildrider said. "I'll have to talk real loud, 'cause I don't think he'll hear much when his head is stuffed down one of the drainage sluices. But I'll do my best. C'mon, let's beat feet."

He transformed and Geri opened the car door, waiting for Buddy to scramble inside before she got in as well and belted up. She hoped her father hadn't been woken up and that no one had seen her, but she had to make sure the dog was returned safely. _It's my birthday. No one should lie awake tonight missing their closest companion._

"Guess I'd better not try to surprise you again." Wildrider's engine revved and he took off with the usual lurch of rapid acceleration that made Geri feel as though her stomach had been left behind in the dust. "So what'd you like me to get you?"

Geri thought of replying that she just liked having him as a friend and didn't need anything else, then decided against it. It was polite but it wouldn't make Wildrider feel as though he had accomplished anything, and he wouldn't like having his genuinely well-meant offer turned down. "How about a drive after we let Buddy out?" she said, resigning herself to what she knew would be a roller-coaster ride.

"I would've given you that anyway."

Geri grinned, and decided to have a little fun. "No, I said 'drive', not 'ride'. I'd like to drive."

"_What?_" For once she'd taken him aback, instead of the other way around. "No way! You can't even see!"

"So? I'll just be driving like you always do. Come on, this will be my only chance to drive a car." She ran a hand lightly over the inside of the door. "And not just any car, a Ferrari."

"But… uh… d'you have a driver's license?"

"No, Prowl, I don't."

"Oh, that was low, kiddo!"

* * *

**Fire From Above: **I think the last story was pretty angsty, so this collection will be as optimistic and funny as possible - at first, anyway. Thanks for reading!

**Taipan Kiryu**: Really good to know you liked this, and I hope you're going to enjoy the rest. Problems with casting, with makeup, with props, with the script… this film will make the producer want to join Romeo and Juliet on the floor of the crypt. "Surreal" is a good word for this experience and I'll be sure to use it in a later chapter.

Breakdown doesn't want to be anywhere near the cameras, but he's already got two stories from his p.o.v. and possibly more to come, so he'll have his turn in the spotlight. And women do find the depressed-but-attractive type difficult to resist, though I don't know why. Maybe because it indulges both our sensual _and_ nurturing sides?

As for Swindle, that smooth-talking con artist gets into all these stories somehow. I don't think I could keep him out if I tried. Fortunately he doesn't bring the rest of his gang along with him, which is something more or less unavoidable with the Stunticons.

**Yuki Hikari**: Glad you're liking the stories. :)


	3. Silly

_Chapter 3 summary: Casting for the film runs into problems, and the Stunticons make some suggestions. Continued from Chapter 1. _

_

* * *

_**3. Silly: Con Central Casting**

"The working title of the film," Stephanie Kain said, "is _Love and War: A Transformers' Romeo and Juliet_."

"Less love, more war," Drag Strip called out, and most of the gathered Decepticons laughed.

Stephanie continued as though he hadn't spoken. She was standing on the hood of her pickup, but she still had to look up to every 'con except those sitting on the sand near the set that was being built. "Most of you already know what your parts are going to be," she said, "but this is the official cast list. Drag Strip will give an excellent performance as Romeo."

_You're giving an adequate performance right now,_ Dead End thought. Drag Strip had clashed with both their producer and director about his role. He insisted on playing the hero but he didn't want to sigh over a lost love, he didn't want to kiss anyone in the enemy camp, he didn't want to turn down Tybalt's challenge and he didn't want to commit suicide.

"The hero's name is Romeo, not Rambo!" Stephanie had finally snapped, and Tony Cabral, who was also their casting director, had suggested trying Dead End out for the role – something about him doing the mopey suicidal part very well. That worked and Drag Strip resigned himself to his role, though he continued to be demanding and dismissive with the human crew, none of whom could stand him. "And I once worked with Naomi Campbell," one of the camera operators said to Dead End.

But despite his attitude, Drag Strip was determined to be the best Romeo ever captured on film, so he learned his lines perfectly. Which put him miles ahead of Wildrider, who kept forgetting his, to the point where Stephanie had to arrange for a teleprompter.

Fortunately his role wasn't too challenging; after the initial screen tests, it was obvious that while Wildrider meant well, he was utterly incapable of _acting_ any part. He could only be himself – energetic, cheerful, destructive and a complete lunatic. So Tony had given him Mercutio's role, and all the humans had breathed a sigh of relief that he would be dead before Act III was over.

Dead End had been tried out for Tybalt's role, but after they watched his performance, Tony commented that his Tybalt seemed more likely to off himself in a fit of existential despair than to pose a threat to anyone else. So he had been given the role of Prince Escalus instead. Dead End didn't mind that. The prince had relatively little screen time and when he did appear, it was to break up the battle, chastise the participants and then wait for them to start up again, rinse and repeat. In the face of that kind of futility, Dead End was only surprised that the prince didn't kill himself too.

That still left a lot of roles to fill. Stephanie had wanted to have the Autobots playing the Capulets (Wildrider started referring to the two families as the Capubots and the Stuntigues). So she extended a tentative invitation towards the 'bots, describing the whole thing as a chance for a cooperative venture and the play itself as a metaphor for a war that had gone on too long.

Dead End wasn't sure how she had managed to say all that with a straight face, but either her salesperson skills needed work or Prime was playing it cautious or both. "Some of the 'bots are interested," she told them later. "Sideswipe, Tracks, a few others… but Optimus Prime feels that his troops won't be safe if they have to work alongside you."

Dead End had to agree. "I'm certain Soundwave keeps an optic on your set," he said, "and if he sees Autobots here, we're going to be under attack."

That hadn't exactly put the human crew at ease, and they kept watching out for Soundwave's cassettes as they worked on the Transformer-sized sets and helped with the rehearsals. Laserbeak sightings multiplied tenfold, though they all turned out to be false alarms or real condors.

By then, though, the crew had a little unexpected help. Scavenger came across their sets, whether as a result of his searching for junk or whether because he had been ordered to report on their activities, Dead End wasn't sure. But he took an immediate interest in the construction of the sets, and returned the next day with one of his teammates in tow.

Long Haul might have been a chronic complainer, but for once he had the chance to design and build something without either Scrapper or Hook taking over. A hint from Dead End was enough for Stephanie, and she soon had the human crew running to fetch and carry anything that Long Haul needed, which massaged his ego like a set of Magic Fingers and made him apply himself to the sets with a will. Stephanie also roped him and Scavenger into the parts of Montague and Lady Montague, not because they could act but because there simply weren't any other 'cons to take those roles.

Swindle got the part of the apothecary. Vortex tried out for a role too, but was shortly afterwards discovered in a private location with the script supervisor, a set of restraints, a laser scalpel and an electric pulser, which ruined any future he had in the film industry and nearly ended the script supervisor's career as well. After that, though, they didn't have many more choices when it came to actors.

Stephanie called a hasty brainstorming meeting one day with Dead End and Swindle, while Drag Strip and Wildrider tagged along even though they hadn't been invited (_one thing humans soon learn_, Dead End thought, _is that Decepticons go where they want, when they want_). "We really need more of a cast," she said. "Any suggestion is welcome, anything at all, no matter how absurd it might seem at first." Clipboard in hand, she looked around at them.

Wildrider was the first to break the silence. "Rumble and Frenzy?"

"Those idiots?" Drag Strip said. "They'll just fool around and waste our time." Now that Drag Strip was word-perfect with his lines, he expected everyone else's performance to be up to the same standard.

Dead End shrugged when Stephanie glanced at him. "You know we're fighting a war, don't you? Against your kind as well as the Autobots? Most of the other Decepticons can't spare the time from their duties, nor would they want to." Motormaster had only permitted the Stunticons' role in the film because they were being paid well, and it was understood that they would drop everything and drive off to battle the moment he called for them.

"What about doubling up roles?" Swindle said. "We could alter our paintjobs for those, and of course we'd be compensated appropriately."

Neither Wildrider nor Drag Strip looked pleased about that, though. "What about voices?" Drag Strip said. "We'd have to alter our voices too, otherwise you could have Juliet sounding exactly like Montague."

"Yeah, and we don't even have anyone to play Drag Strip's twoo wuv yet," was Wildrider's contribution.

The humans automatically moved away to give Drag Strip plenty of room to swing a fist. "Well, we'll keep going," Stephanie said. "David Selznick filmed the burning of Atlanta on the same night that he met Vivien Leigh for the first time."

"_Gone with the Wind_," Tony said, as all the 'cons looked blank.

"In other words, we keep going even if we haven't found a leading lady yet," Stephanie said. "And I have an idea about how to get one."

Her idea turned out to be inspired by the Seekers, who had started doing recon flights over Long Haul's increasingly elaborate sets, which looked like a small town in the desert. The humans rolled rocks into an expanse of smooth bare ground nearby, arranging the stones to spell out, "Would you like to be a film star?" The next day, one of the crew notified Stephanie on her walkie-talkie that "the eagle has landed", and Skywarp teleported in a moment later.

Drag Strip looked as though he had choked on his own vocalizer at the thought of Skywarp being Juliet, but to his great relief, Skywarp made a much better Tybalt. "And think of the confrontation in Act III!" Stephanie said excitedly. "Mercutio takes Tybalt on, Ferrari against F-15, but he's holding his own until Tybalt teleports behind Romeo and shoots Mercutio from there. Tybalt's damaged and can't gain altitude, though, so Romeo chases him through the streets of Verona--"

"Firing all the way!" Wildrider said, bouncing from one foot to another.

"Lots of cool maneuvers," Drag Strip put in.

"Bring it on, groundbound," Skywarp said, grinning.

"My beautiful sets!" Long Haul protested.

"--and finally gets him back to earth. The two of you will transform then, and fight it out with…"

Her voice trailed off, and Dead End turned to see what she was looking at. On the rise of a hill nearby was a black semi with purple-tinted windows, watching them.

Everyone else seemed to notice Motormaster at the same time. The sets fell silent. Dead End sensed the tension that shot through the gestalt bond, all of it from Wildrider and Drag Strip; what he felt was simply a great weariness that settled across his shoulders like a yoke. It wasn't like Motormaster to spy on them – he routinely hit and bullied his subordinates, but he didn't micromanage their spare time – so he was there to destroy the sets, to ruin everything they had worked for, and probably to kill as many humans as he could too.

Long Haul was saying something, but Dead End didn't hear it. There wasn't anything the Constructicon could do about it anyway. Motormaster answered only to Megatron, who wasn't likely to hold him responsible for smashing the sets intended for some human-controlled project, no matter how much time Long Haul had put into them. _Why did we even bother learning lines and rehearsing? The whole thing's over before it even started._

"What'll we do?" Wildrider said, just beside him. Dead End hadn't heard him approach, but he wasn't startled; at moments like that, the Stunticons closed ranks.

Drag Strip, on his other side, turned abruptly. "Go on with what you were saying," he told Stephanie. His voice was taut, half-fearful and half-defiant, as he always was in a confrontation with Motormaster. "We're not going to just stand here staring at him. Go on!"

Stephanie was nearly twenty feet shorter than he was – small and soft, weak and unarmed – but she looked up at Drag Strip as though for the first time she saw something beneath his arrogance and abrasiveness. Her nod was jerky, but definite. "Where was I? Oh yes, the two of you transform and fight it out with swords."

"I win," Drag Strip said, establishing the most important part of the battle.

Motormaster watched them for a moment longer, then slowly reversed. _Perhaps he just came to remind us what he could do to us if he chose,_ Dead End thought as the semi drove away in a cloud of dust. Motormaster had never been averse to mind games to keep his troops in line. Still, now that he had gone, the change on the sets was instantly evident. Stephanie drew a hand across her forehead.

"Who was that?" she said.

_Death on eighteen wheels,_ Dead End thought. "Our immediate superior. And no, he won't want a part in the film."

"I'm not so sure I want one either," Skywarp said suddenly. "What's all this slag about me dressing up as an Autobot?"

"We don't have a choice," Stephanie said. "Most of the conflict in the story comes about because Romeo and Juliet belong to different families which are at war with each other. The parallel we'll have in the film are your two factions, but since the 'bots seem too scared to join you on set…"

"We'll just paint Autobot symbols on your wings," Tony said, looking up from the rapid sketch he was making. Dead End caught the director's gaze and tapped a finger lightly on the side of his visor – _what about optic colors?_ – but Tony replied with the slightest shake of his head – _not now_. He tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to Skywarp. "What do you think?"

Skywarp was distracted enough by the drawing of himself that he didn't say anything else until Stephanie called the meeting of the cast and crew five minutes later to make their roles official. He wasn't too pleased, though, on finding that he was the only Capulet – in other words, the only one so far who was a pretend-Autobot.

"Could you get any of your friends to try out for a role?" Stephanie said hopefully.

Skywarp looked dubious. "I might be able to talk Thundercracker into… nah, he's not keen on humans. Or spending too much time on the ground."

"Or Shakespeare?"

"What's Shakespeare?"

So the day ended on what Dead End considered a routine and depressing note, as if Motormaster's arrival had cast a shadow over everything. The next morning, though, Long Haul showed up with Bonecrusher. "Security detail," Stephanie explained to the Stunticons. "In case… you know."

Bonecrusher wasn't interested in acting or human entertainment of any kind, but he and Long Haul were friends as well as gestaltmates, and he wasn't likely to stand by while anyone destroyed Long Haul's sets. Stephanie was pleased, and assured Bonecrusher that his name would be in the credits as well. Then she had to explain the difference between credits as currency and credits as the film industry used the term.

The main problem was that they still had no actors other than Skywarp to play the Capulets – and Skywarp didn't like being on his own. He tried hanging out with the other 'cons off-set, only to be told by Drag Strip that as a Capulet and therefore an honorary Autobot, he wasn't welcome. "Try to be in character even when the cameras aren't rolling," Drag Strip concluded.

Naturally, Skywarp wasn't likely to take that from any Stunticon, and no matter how fast Drag Strip's reflexes were, teleporting turned out to be that much faster. Bonecrusher and Swindle broke up the fight, one through sheer force and the other through fast talking, and Dead End – who had stayed out of the way so that his freshly polished armor wouldn't be scuffed – suggested to Stephanie that she either find some more Capulets or prepare to lose Skywarp.

"Will you help me?" Stephanie said, glancing up at him. "I don't know the other Decepticons. I don't know what kind of inducements or persuasion will work on them."

Dead End looked away, partly because he wasn't used to humans asking him for anything and partly because he didn't know how to solve her problem. Although he was the best-read of the Stunticons, he wasn't the one who came up with ideas. That was Breakdown's job.

Except Breakdown hadn't wanted to be anywhere near the humans and their cameras, so they'd left him behind in the _Nemesis_. At first he seemed fine with that, and Dead End was careful not to discuss the details of whatever they did on set. Breakdown, like all the Stunticons, had a jealous streak. It was one thing for his teammates to consider Wildrider's insane idea of starring in a film, and to be well-paid for doing so, but he wasn't likely to be delighted on learning that his teammates were enjoying themselves without him.

He'd found out, though, and not from them. _Mettle_ ran a feature story about the film, along with a picture of Stephanie that had been Photoshopped so the port-wine birthmark on her face looked like the Decepticon symbol. "How droll," Dead End commented, but Breakdown said nothing as he read through the article, and he said even less afterwards.

"C'mon, just ask him," Wildrider said.

Dead End sighed, and opened a comm line. It took some time, since Breakdown had been feeling lonely and wanted plenty of attention before he was willing to help, but finally he suggested a plan. Dead End relayed it to Stephanie, and she started to smile.

"That might work," she said, and went off to make a phone call. Even Skywarp liked the idea, because as he explained, it made sense. "I'm a flier, so what's-her-name and the other, uh, Copulates should be fliers too."

"Is he even capable of learning the characters' names?" Drag Strip sneered, though he was careful to do so over the Stunticon channel. Dead End started to reply, then stopped as Motormaster's voice cut in, telling them they had an assignment.

"We have to leave," Dead End said to Tony. "Probably never to return. Perhaps you would send the portraits of me to the Decepticon crypt when they're complete… no, there would be no one to take them there since we're all likely to be deactivated."

"I can take them," Swindle said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, but the Stunticons had already transformed, engines kicking into high gear. They drove off seconds later, and only returned the next day, late in the evening. Bonecrusher met them at the entrance of the makeshift compound that had sprung up around their sets. A single light cast a weak illumination over the gate; all the real juice, as Wildrider put it, was for the sets.

"They're here," he said, the words coming out as though they had been chewed rather than spoken.

"Oh, what fun," Dead End muttered. Even though it had been Breakdown's idea and had saved the film, he'd grown accustomed to the cast as it was. He transformed and went over to the trailer where the gas cans were always stored. Energon would have been preferable, but he could tell Stephanie's financial resources were being strained to their limits.

Another mech was already busy at the trailer, reaching inside, though in the dark Dead End only recognized him when he drew close enough. Sideswipe turned and straightened up, a grin spreading across his face.

"I was, um, just rearranging the cans," he said. "Help yourself."

Dead End suddenly found himself reluctant to touch any of the gas cans. "I take it you're starring in the film as well?" he said.

"Uh-huh. I'll be playing Breakdown, who'll be playing the friar. I'm just not sure what name I'll be listed as in the credits."

Drag Strip's lip curled. "Stephanie!" he yelled to the compound at large, and when she finally appeared, he told her that Sunstreaker had better not be playing Juliet.

Stephanie folded her arms. "Why would we have both the hero and heroine played by yellow robots? The audience wouldn't be able to tell you apart in the sex scene." She turned before Drag Strip could collect himself enough to reply. "C'mon, I'll introduce you to the Capulets."

"Autobots pretending to be Decepticons pretending to be Autobots," Dead End radioed to Wildrider as Stephanie led them towards the public square Long Haul had built. The impersonation was too reminiscent of what the Autobots had once done to them, even if they weren't actively working against the Decepticons now. "So this is what the war has come to."

Wildrider laughed. "The set's neutral ground, she said. Dunno how long that'll last."

_Well, we might as well endure it while it does_, Dead End thought as Stephanie went towards a group of mechs who stood in a cluster at one corner of the square, talking among themselves. The nearest one, who had his back to them, was a black F-15. Dead End thought for a moment that it was Skywarp before the mechs all turned to face them, and Drag Strip stopped in his tracks.

"Aerialbots?" he said in disgust.

"Stunticons." Air Raid sounded as though he had swallowed slag.

"The course of true love never did run smooth." Stephanie stepped between them, and smiled. "Let's get to work."

_The story continues in Chapter 5…_

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_**Yuki Hikari** : Thanks for the review! I'm sure Geri likes having a 'con friend, but isn't so keen on him assaulting another blind person to bring her a gift which she then has to return. But like all the reviewers, she seems to have seen the good intentions behind the bad idea. :)

**Tugera**: Dead End knows he's going to die, probably any minute now, but he'd like to leave behind the most attractive corpse anyone has ever seen. That makes the pathos and irony of his death even greater. Plus, it emphasizes the sadness and futility of life itself… if something so beautiful is going to turn to rust, then what chance have less appealing mechanisms got?

(Don't even get him started on organics)

**Taipan Kiryu:** Wildrider and Geri do bring out the best in each other, although I'm not sure if he's learned anything from her except that there's one human in the world who cares about him. And I figure he eventually gave in and let her drive, after turning his forcefield up to maximum and making exaggerated sounds of agony at whatever she did.

Glad you liked the references to MJ songs too. :) No other title would have fitted as well for this series.

**Fire From Above**: Yes, Geri knows how to get Wildrider to do what she wants without hurting his feelings, which is a level of care that's very new to him. There are downsides to being a Stunticon's friend, though, which she learns about in their next story together (that one's not so fluffy).


	4. Caring

_Chapter 4 summary: Motormaster and Mayday have a "discussion". Warning: contains references to sexual assault. Takes place after the Mayday/Onslaught scene in "Gifts, Then and Now"._

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_**4. Caring: Deconstructing the Charr incident**

When she hears the announcement that they are under attack, Mayday goes to the ship's repair bay with her usual unhurried pace. It will be at least a few breem before the casualties come in, enough time for her to prepare the place, which she does with automatic efficiency. None of the other Decepticons on the ship matter enough that their injuries or deaths will shake her icy calm.

She is just as indifferent to the prospect of her own death, so she doesn't bother tapping into the comms to find out who they're fighting or even whether they've won. Once the repair bay is ready, she settles down in a chair with its arms removed to make space for her wings, and waits.

She doesn't have to wait long. Thrust is the first, one wing all but sheared off, and he stumbles so badly that Mayday wonders if it's just the wing damage that's unbalanced him. Temporary cauterization to stop the worst of the leakage and a scan for internal damage; then he's stabilized and hooked up to monitors in the next room.

She even reassures him that he'll be all right, because she tends to get along better with fliers than groundcrawlers, and then she moves on to the next casualty, one of the Sweeps. And another. And another.

Mayday appreciates their anonymity; she's not likely to get attached to any one of them, only to watch them die in battle (or be murdered in the aftermath of one). She works silently and fast, with a skill honed by both an Autobot and a Decepticon, only one of whom is still alive. The repairs actually makes her feel a little better too, and the cold indifference is almost starting to thaw when she looks up to see that the Stunticons are waiting.

Even though their brutish leader isn't present, the sight of them brings back an ugly unwanted memory, but she's a Decepticon and a medic. _Decepticons never show weakness, and medics do their job no matter what the circumstances._ She might hate the Stunticons but she'll treat them.

Odd that they would all have taken damage in a space battle, considering their alt-modes, but then again, they tend to be the vanguard of what's left of the army; they're not valuable enough for anything else. Mayday wonders for a moment if their commander might have been killed in the battle. No, that would be too good to be true.

She gestures at the berth. "Lie down," she says in the Stunticons' general direction.

Those are the only words she says for some time, until Drag Strip pushes too close to the berth. Whether he's keeping an eye on the proceedings or just trying to rile her, she orders him to back off.

"Just making sure you won't let anyone die, Mayhem," he says.

Mayday has finally had enough; she can never forget what happened on Charr, so she really doesn't need to be reminded of it. "Either get out or finish this yourself." Breakdown is still on the berth, chestplate open and circuits laid bare, hooked up to a monitor. She begins to put her instruments away.

Drag Strip sneers. "You wanna tangle with Motormaster again? I guess you must've enjoyed it when he felt you up--"

Mayday is grateful she was bracing for something like that, because she manages not to react. And the act of stowing away her instruments makes enough of a flash and clatter that it covers up what she's really doing, which is using an electric tracer on a bare wire leading into the monitor to which Breakdown is hooked up. She secretly taps in the right number of pulses.

"--must've been the most action you've had in a long time," Drag Strip continues.

The monitor beeps a systems-failure alarm. It's not really happening, of course, but the Stunticons aren't to know that. Mayday finishes stashing her instruments as the monitor starts blaring that the patient is in critical condition. If the Stunticons stay around for a few kliks longer they'll see through her bluff, but by then Breakdown is terrified and Drag Strip is suddenly silenced. Wildrider pulls him out of the repair bay and once the doors close behind them, Mayday resets the monitor.

"What an amusing trick," Dead End says, sounding very unamused. Mayday isn't worried; of all the Stunticons, he's the least likely to take a swing at her (or do what Motormaster nearly did on Charr), and there's no other way they can hurt her. She continues the repairs on Breakdown, receives her energon ration from a Sweep who tells her there's only one other mech waiting to be seen – _what a relief,_ she thinks – and is finally done. The two Stunticons leave the repair bay.

Motormaster walks in.

Mayday feels every internal component of hers turn to lead chilled in the vacuum of space. For a single clenching moment she thinks he's here because of the trick she pulled with Drag Strip. Then she sees the deep scorches on his armor, the dents, the shattered optic and the way one arm hangs at an unnatural angle, joint half-melted and circuits broken. _Oh. He's here for repairs._

"Lie down," she says when she is certain she can speak with a steady authority. This is the repair bay, after all, and she's the only medic on board, so she and not Motormaster gives the orders there. Her voice comes out flatter than the floor and with no discernible emotion, which she supposes is the best she can expect.

Motormaster gets on to the berth, which creaks under his weight. And Mayday thinks of killing him.

She isn't sure what puts the thought into her head – perhaps it's being so close to him, which never fails to unsettle and disgust her. All her calm control doesn't help. Once again she's back on Charr, trying to explain that they don't have enough resources to save mechs who are too badly injured, even if they're Stunticons. And once again she feels powerful hands move over her frame as Motormaster says that if she doesn't do it, he won't kill her – he'll just make her wish she was dead.

The recollection is enough to make her conscious thought processes falter for a moment, though her training does not; her hands automatically get out the tools she needs. And then her fingers brush the cool surface of a slim cylinder of sedative. It's full. That's a lethal dose.

Suddenly there's another mental time-shift, and she's back in the Ark, listening to Ratchet. He was her first mentor, and it doesn't matter how long it's been since she last heard his voice; she remembers everything he taught her. _Ratchet wouldn't kill anyone, no matter how they'd treated him, while they were a patient of his._ She closes the cabinet and grips it for support as she pulls herself back to her feet.

_Besides,_ says a voice that sounds like Hook's, _it's not as though his death would be put down to battle damage. If he had the strength to walk to the repair bay, he's unlikely to spontaneously deactivate on the berth, and then you'd have the other Stunticons to deal with. _

The vicious impulse falls under the dual blows of compassion and reason and is gone. Mayday turns, only to find Motormaster watching her with an odd look in his remaining optic. If he guesses… but all he says is, "What the frag's wrong with _you_?"

The curt question is delivered with all of Motormaster's usual contempt and hostility, though Mayday hears the telltale static in his vocalizer – he's struggling not to show the effects of his injuries. _Good._ She wonders if she can get away with doing the repairs without disconnecting any of his sensors, then decides a little reluctantly that Ratchet wouldn't have done that either.

So she carefully uncouples both the primary and secondary receptor bundles that pick up feedback from the pain sensors, telling herself over and over again that this is just another patient, another mech who needs her skills. Which doesn't make much of a difference, and as she works, she keeps wondering what loss it would be if he died. Sure, the Decepticons would be short a gestalt, but what would that matter? They've already lost Megatron and the war and their homeworld, in that order.

She can't kill Motormaster herself, but she still wishes he had died out there. Maybe the other Stunticons do too, which is why they aren't hanging around to keep an optic on him. _What a pathetic existence, having your own team hate and despise you_, she thinks as she examines the ruined elbow joint – it'll need to be replaced. _Really, no one would be the worse for it if he deactivated._

"You thinking about what I did on Charr?" Motormaster says suddenly.

Startled, Mayday glances at him before she can stop herself. Motormaster's face is expressionless and the one optic glows a cold alien purple rather than the warm red to which Mayday is accustomed. She reminds herself that he's a gestalt leader, which means he'll try to dominate any situation, even one where he's being repaired by a medic who has every reason to want him dead. And he's a sadist, which means he'll search out any weakness in his opponent and exploit it.

Her safest course is to say nothing. If she doesn't react, she won't give him any ammunition he could use against her. So she only connects circuits and wires to the new joint, keeping her attention on that.

"Yeah, you are." Motormaster answers his own question. "Why shouldn't you?" If he were the kind of mech to whom she would give the benefit of the doubt, she might think he was getting everything out into the open, rather than tiptoeing around the Bruticus in the room. "I'd have fragged you over. Literally."

_I'm surprised you know the meaning of that word,_ Mayday thinks as she finishes the replacement. He'll need some new armor panels, too, but he can live without those for the time being, and she doesn't have the facilities for it on the ship. She tries not to remember the Constructicons' repair bay back on the _Nemesis_, of Mixmaster humming as he prepares the correct alloys, Scavenger asking if he can help, Scrapper telling Hook that they don't have the time to do all those upgrades.

If the Stunticons represent the worst of what a combiner team can be, the Constructicons – as far as Mayday is concerned, anyway – stand for the best.

_Never mind, think of what's next. Replacing the optic._ She really doesn't want to look into Motormaster's face again, but she has no choice. _Just keep quiet and he'll get bored with the baiting_.

"But that was the best thing anyone ever did for you," he says.

_You are a truly vile piece of slag who doesn't have the right to be called a Decepticon_, Mayday thinks as she begins to clean the fragments out of the socket. That has to hurt; the receptor bundles she disconnected earlier receive sensory feedback from the body, but not from the cranium or the face. Out of the corner of one optic she sees Motormaster's hands curl into fists, but there's no other visible sign of what he feels.

He does take a moment before he goes on with what he's saying, though, and she supposes he'll go the Drag Strip route and suggest that she enjoyed what he did. "Taught you your place."

She uses a vacuum suction to remove the last and smallest splinters. Self-repair systems have already sealed the trickle of lubricant from the socket.

"Taught you not to waste time when someone's dying."

She exposes the wires and receptors, ready for the replacement.

"Taught you that no one messes with my team."

"Spare me your hypocrisy." Mayday has finally reached her limit, and the revulsion feels as though it's choking her. She straightens, suddenly aware that this is the only time when Motormaster will have to look up at her, rather than it being the other way around. "How many times have you beaten them? Or fragged them over, literally?"

"That's different. I'm their leader. I have to keep them in line."

"By inflicting serious injuries on them?" Mayday says as she fits another optic.

Motormaster shrugs – or tries to. The movement is cut short by his various injuries, and he grimaces. "It works. You spent too much time with the 'bots… we do things differently here. And that's not as bad as leaving one of 'em to die."

He's redirected the conversation to the topic of what she did, so Mayday tosses the grenade back on to his side. "I'm not sure your team would agree," she says casually as she recalibrates his new optic. "Didn't they try to kill you once?"

That puts a fissure into Motormaster's contemptuous confidence. Mayday joined the Decepticons just after that happened, so he evidently wasn't expecting her to be aware of it. "I'm still here," he says after the briefest pause, "so they must not've been trying too hard."

"Perhaps they'll have better luck next time."

There's a tiny, telltale whir of servos as Motormaster's jaws clench, slowly relaxing under what looks like an effort of will. Mayday gives no sign that she has noticed as she reconnects the receptors and moves on to check the scorches of laserfire on his chassis.

"Y'know why they take all that from me?" he says finally.

"Because they don't have any other choice," Mayday says, not looking up from her work. She knows what it's like not to have any other choice too, but she can no longer afford sympathy towards anyone, least of all the Stunticons. _Who don't want it anyway._ "Because you've beaten them down to the point where they think your treatment of them is normal." _Or justified_.

Motormaster's voice is a low, grating rumble that Mayday doesn't so much hear as feel, since she's holding together the deepest gash in his armor to solder it shut. She thought she's overcome her disgust, but she nearly pulls away at that. "'Cause I take care of them," he says, "and make sure no one else messes with them. They know I discipline them when they need it and look after them when they need that. Just like Megatron'd do with all of us."

Mayday's head snaps up at that. "Don't ever compare yourself to Megatron in my presence." She's trying to control her sudden fury, but it shows; how dare this despicable pervert imply he has anything in common with the leader she would have given her life for? "Megatron was the leader of an empire he built from nothing, and soldiers joined his ranks willingly. What are you the leader of? Four psychotics who didn't even choose to be your punching bags?"

Motormaster is off the berth so fast that she stumbles back. A welder is in her hand, not that it can do more than give him a slight burn before he kills her, and she reflexively opens a comm line to Onslaught, not that that'll help her either, when Motormaster finally replies. His voice is so quiet that it sends a tremor down her back, and she can't look away from the purple hell of his optics as he stands over her.

"They know that whatever I do, it's because they matter to me," he says. "One way or another. But you… you didn't care. And you still don't. And that's what makes the difference."

He moves away without touching her and the door of the medical bay closes behind him.

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**tomorrow4eva **: Yes, definitely inspired by D_E's stories. She did a great job of fleshing out the Stunticons' personalities.

Drag Strip likes the action in the film (and the whole family vs. family aspect of it), but he has no interest at all in the romance, so he's going to do what he can to sabotage that. Or at least force the Aerialbots to leave.

I think Dead End suggested Powerglide because it would have been fun to watch two glory-hog stars who are both full of themselves, fighting over who gets more attention. Thankfully the producer and director make a much more sensible choice for Juliet.

And I'll be labelling the slash chapters – two so far, for the "Naughty" and "Horny" parts of the meme. I'm predictable. ;)

**Lady Sunflower, Yuki Hikari** : Thanks for your reviews! Glad you're enjoying the story of the film. I didn't intend it to be the basis for a dozen fics in this meme, but I think I'm being taken for as much of a thrill ride as the other humans.

**dfastback68** : My favorite play is _Macbeth_, but that gets referenced in the next fic. Here, nothing works as well as _Romeo and Juliet_, partly because of the theme of an ancient feud between factions and partly because the romance is going to grate on a lot of nerves (or circuits). And as you predict, it won't be easy making the Stunticons play along with the love story, so things are going to get worse before they get better.

I always wanted Long Haul to have a chance to design and build something by himself (or at least with someone else assisting him rather than telling him to move materials). As for the Aerialbots… well, I'm going to use them mostly for contrast with the Stunticons rather than giving them screen time on their own, so I hope that works out.

Thanks for reading!

**Taipan Kiryu** : You're right. Drag Strip isn't just difficult to work with – he's impossible to work with if he doesn't want to comply, and when Stephanie's patience finally snaps… let's just say the consequences are not pretty. I love the title "Romeo Must Die", by the way. Thanks for mentioning it; I'm going to try to incorporate it into the story.

It's once again good to have a real filmmaker's approval on my filmmaker's choices. :) There's no role which would suit Wildrider as well as that of the flamboyant, aggressive but always amusing Mercutio. He's my favorite character in the play. But putting all of them together with a bunch of Autobots is likely to result in, as you said, "a complete disaster of a masterpiece". Swindle is already calculating how much profit he's going to make from the blooper reels alone.

And Long Haul's done a great job on building the sets, but he's getting a bit too attached to them. Let's face it, audiences these days like things getting blowed up real good. Just ask Michael Bay. Long Haul, on the other hand, has really poured his spark into his one chance at designing and building something, and is not pleased about the actors damaging his beautiful scenery. So that's another problem for Stephanie.

I didn't originally intend Motormaster to do anything other than show up to see what his subordinates were doing. But given the effect he's had on the cast, the crew and the readers, he's going to have more of a part to play. I just have to figure out what.

I really appreciate your detailed review and your inspiring me with this story in the first place!

**Fire From Above** : The humans have definitely taken on more than they can handle… but so have the 'cons, in a different way. It's been a lot of fun to write. :)


	5. Naughty

_Chapter 5 summary: Left alone in the base while his teammates are busy with the film, Breakdown finds that their return isn't exactly what he was expecting. __Continued from Chapter 3. _

_Warning: contains slash, semi-dub-con.  
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_**5. Naughty: Meanwhile, back on the ship...  
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Breakdown waited just around the corner from the inspection and processing area, where all cargo that entered the _Nemesis_ was passed through scanners and checked for traps, viruses and contraband. Even though the scanners were being worked by drones, he stayed quietly out of sight until they removed two magazines wrapped in clear plastic and pinged him automatically. Then he sidled out of hiding, grabbed and subspaced the magazines, transformed and drove back to his room.

That was one of the very few places on the ship where he felt safe, and even then he checked it at least once a day for hidden cameras and bugs. Fortunately that didn't take long, since his room was small, only about fifty feet wide and not much longer. It wasn't cluttered – he only had a computer and a berth that folded up into the wall – but the walls were nearly covered. There were maps of Earth and Cybertron, floor plans of both the _Nemesis_ and the Ark, and an enlarged version of the pull-out full-color poster from the issue of _Mettle_ that had featured the Stunticons.

Much of the accompanying article had been inaccurate, which Breakdown supposed was only to be expected. Although they didn't seem to have the usual knee-jerk loathing of 'cons, the magazine's human staff still got their information from either the Autobots or other humans. Even the poster was an artist's rendition rather than taken by a camera, which was why it included him at all, but it wasn't as bad.

He settled down comfortably on his berth, set the latest issue of _Mettle_ aside and picked up the other magazine instead. _Vigilance_ was newer and anti-'con all the way. The only question was whether it posed any threat to them or whether it would have simplistic slag like "Spotting Decepticon Activity in Your Neighborhood".

As carefully as he could with the size difference between his hand and a human magazine, he wrote his name on the inside cover (although that didn't make a difference to teammates who borrowed his possessions and forgot to return them). Then he found a magnifier and began to read.

Just as a faraway growl sounded, a chorus of engines in the distance that grew steadily louder. Breakdown automatically lowered the magnifier, then lifted it again. _So they're back. Well, I didn't even notice they were gone. I've been too busy._

The engines roared up to his door and there was a screech of brakes, a muffled _clang_ and a delighted giggle. Although Breakdown was no longer reading, he still kept his optics on the magazine. There was no way he could have accompanied his teammates while they hung around humans and stood in front of cameras, but he'd still missed them during their long absences. Then he'd felt resentful that they were away and annoyed with himself for being weak.

The door shuddered in its frame when someone pounded on it as if it was a drum. Wildrider, Breakdown knew at once. Drag Strip would have radioed anyone inside to tell them to open the slagging door, and Dead End either knocked or entered the access code himself. "Come in," he said without looking up.

The door slid open and the other Stunticons entered as though they had been leaning against it with engines revved. Wildrider bounced up on to the berth and Dead End lowered himself languidly on to Breakdown's other side, only to be shoved back by Drag Strip. He sighed and settled down between Breakdown and the wall, while the berth creaked under their combined weight. Breakdown put the magazine aside; he couldn't even pretend to get any reading done now.

"Your idea seems to have worked for now," Dead End said, which Breakdown supposed was pessimisese for "it was a great success". "A few Autobots condescended to join us, so the cast is complete and the show can go on, at least until the next roadblock."

"Or until that Prime wannabe does a drivethrough," Drag Strip muttered, a bitter look on his face.

"He showed up?" Breakdown felt sure that Motormaster hadn't done much more than that, but then again, he didn't need to. The Stunticon leader was at his most dangerous when he was quiet and calm, so just having him watch in silence would have been enough to unnerve everyone. Suddenly he was glad he hadn't been there.

"The Autobots weren't there at the time," Dead End said, "but it's just a matter of time until he sees them. Even painting them all in the appropriate colors before they appear on the sets will only postpone the inevitable." He shifted his weight and tapped Breakdown's spoiler. "You've got a scuff."

"Could you clean it off?" Breakdown couldn't reach that far behind him, and the news made him think of something else. "No one's going to be painted as me, are they?" he said to Wildrider; he couldn't turn his head far enough to look at Dead End.

"Um," Drag Strip said.

Breakdown turned to face him, suspicion building. "Who is it?"

Drag Strip patted his arm in a conciliatory manner. "It's Sideswipe."

"_What_?" There was a soft touch on Breakdown's spoiler and he twitched before he realized Dead End was wiping out the scuff with a chamois. "Why does anyone have to look like me? And why does it have to be _him_?"

The pats on his arm became long soothing strokes. "Here's the way I see it," Drag Strip said, looking off into the distance as he continued to caress Breakdown's arm absently. "Sideswipe's playing the friar, and I'm Romeo. Well, Romeo only talks to the friar because they both have sports cars as alt-modes. Romeo's too cool to spill anything to a dump truck or a piece of tailfin. Doesn't that make sense?"

"I guess… but Sideswipe?"

"How did you get this scuff?" Dead End said, polishing harder. "It's not coming out."

Wildrider leaned close towards him. "And that's how friarboy gets to the crypt before everyone else does, to rescue Juliet. He's got a really _fast_ alt-mode."

"Not fast enough, obviously," Drag Strip said with a grin, "because the low-watt shoots herself. If I didn't die too, that'd be the best ending ever. I'm gonna try to switch a loaded gun for the empty one when we actually film that scene."

Breakdown reluctantly decided that he had to read the play to see if any of their explanations made sense. He'd avoided doing that before, because he didn't want anything to do with any human entertainment that took his teammates away from him. "Remember what happened when Sideswipe impersonated me before?" he said.

"Oh, come on." Drag Strip shifted a little nearer. "We're not going to mistake him for you and take him back home with us, if that's what you're worrying about."

Breakdown started to reply, and the words turned to a gasp as something warm and wet grazed his spoiler. His spinal struts tightened reflexively, stiffening his frame. Had Dead End just _licked_ him?

"Finally," Dead End said. "That's got the mark out. I thought for a moment that it was Cosmic Rust." He began to rub again, in firm steady strokes that went the entire length of the spoiler and sent little tremors through Breakdown's circuits.

At any other time, Breakdown would have been happy to turn that into a mutual polishing session, but now he was distracted, both by the thought of an Autobot that looked exactly like him and by the presence of Wildrider and Drag Strip. Not that there was a whole lot of privacy in a gestalt, and there wasn't much he could do with any one of his teammates that he hadn't done with the others as well. He just wasn't used to anyone watching any of those sessions – polishing or otherwise.

"If…" He swallowed and tried to speak normally. "If anyone sees that film, they'll know right away that it's not me in that role."

Drag Strip stopped stroking his upper arm and gripped it lightly instead. His fingers curled as far around warm metal as they could reach, tightened and relaxed. Then his palm slid up a fraction and he repeated the action. Breakdown realized he was inching towards the shoulder-wheel, but as he opened his mouth to ask what Drag Strip thought he was doing, Wildrider spoke up. "The boss don't care about human stuff and Megatron's got more important stuff to do than watch films. So what does it matter if anyone else sees it?"

"But…"

"Besides, Sideswipe doesn't look much like you.' Dead End must have shifted closer before speaking, because Breakdown felt both the warm airflow from his vents and the timbre of his voice. Then the chamois began to trace the length of his spinal strut, rubbing up and down, up and down. "The alt-mode and paintjob match, that's all."

"Right." Drag Strip took his hand away before it could reach the shoulder-wheel, leaving Breakdown relieved but disappointed at once. "There's lots of other differences. You have thrusters here." He leaned down and cupped Breakdown's heel, then slid his palm slowly over dark blue metal up to the knee to caress the seam beneath.

"I'll tell you a secret." Wildrider pressed himself against Breakdown's other side, lips to audial. "You're much, much hotter than he is."

Breakdown's engine revved, drowning out his voice as he tried to answer, even though he knew his reply would be some breathless variant of _what? _He'd been alone for so long that the attention felt concentrated, coming at him from all sides, too much to take. His internal fans whirred, and he shifted on the berth as the teasing made him squirm.

It was with a sense of real shock that he realized his teammates hadn't even touched him intimately. _Yet._

"Did you know there's a scuff on the back of your neck as well, Breakdown?" Dead End made a tsk-tsk-tsk sound. He rubbed the chamois over the offending spot, with an occasional lick to help in the polishing. Breakdown's engine shifted into a higher gear, involuntarily. "What _have_ you been doing in our absence? Scrubbing the hangar?"

"Can't have done," Wildrider said, reaching for Breakdown's wrist and turning his hand upward. His thumb stroked Breakdown's palm in a steady rhythm. "His hands are still clean."

_Unlike your minds,_ Breakdown thought. Whatever the three of them were doing or planning to do with him, it was arousing but also overwhelming – he felt outnumbered and surrounded. And he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be a part of it. He put his free hand on the surface of the berth, intending to push himself away and get some breathing space.

Quick as always, Drag Strip grabbed his wrist. "Something wrong?" he said, engine purring with a hint of mockery that was more than picked up by his smile. "Just relax, Breakdown. Enjoy the ride."

Breakdown started to say that there was no way he could _relax_ under ordinary circumstances, let alone around three lecherous teammates who seemed intent on taking him all at once, when Drag Strip reached up with his free hand and slid his visor off. For a moment Breakdown was too surprised to speak. Drag Strip never did that unless he was in the throes of pleasure, and sometimes not even then.

Drag Strip took full advantage of the hesitation; his hand moved over Breakdown's knee and slid upwards, palm rubbing in small circles. "This feels great after pawing an Aerialbot through take after take," he said, and leaned in.

Breakdown shied away automatically, though that brought him flush against Wildrider's chassis and an arm slipped around him from behind. "Wh--Aerialbot?"

"Yeah. Had to kiss one of the stupid fraggers." Drag Strip's expression of disgust gave way to a mix of calculation and desire as his gaze traveled over Breakdown's frame. His optics went from violet to an inky darkness that seemed to glow with heat rather than with light, and his voice rasped with need when he spoke. "Rather kiss you."

"Me first!" Wildrider's free hand cupped Breakdown's jaw, turning his head before he managed to draw away. Wildrider still got in a quick kiss, and Breakdown knew that in another second he would have kissed back.

"Doesn't matter who starts it," Dead End said, fingers searching for a wheel-well. His voice was a low rough murmur that made Breakdown shiver. "Just… who ends it."

"Who's first over the finish line." Drag Strip grinned again. "Come on, Breakdown! Quit playing hard to get!"

_That does it._

"Okay," Breakdown said. Suddenly he wasn't worried about his vocalizer betraying anything; they'd pushed him a little too far. "I'll quit… playing."

His engine revved in a sharp irregular vibration that made all three of his teammates jolt back as their own systems stuttered momentarily. Breakdown didn't do anything further. He was too aroused by then to kick them all out of his room and yet he wasn't going to simply give in. No Stunticon submitted so easily; it was as simple as that. It didn't matter whether they were outnumbered or what tactics their enemies used.

Dead End was the first to recover. "_Yes, that's why_," he said over the radio.

_Why what?_ Breakdown had to let his engine slip back into idle to listen. "_Because you're dangerous as well as incredibly appealing, Breakdown. It's irresistible_." The last word came out in a growl. "_You can disable us all without laying a hand on us, and we know it. The question is, do you want to? Or do you want this?"_

He moved forward just enough to press his chestplate against Breakdown's back and spoiler, engine rumbling again. It sent shudders through white metal and hot ripples through the hidden circuitry beneath.

Breakdown whimpered and tried to reply. The sound was cut off as Drag Strip pushed him back against Dead End and kissed him hard, probing his mouth. Wildrider's hands were stroking his chestplate and hips, dipping into seams to trace and pluck sensitive wires, and he felt more kisses on his wheels, his throat, someone sucking eagerly on two of his fingers, rubbing the small of his back, stimulating every sensor cluster at once, lapping greedily, he was close, so close, and suddenly there was a playful bite on the point where his neck and shoulder joined. It was too much. Breakdown cried out, his frame jerking helplessly with the overload, and his engine's snarl juddered up into a crescendo. Every light in the room blew out simultaneously. The last spasm racked him and faded, and he went limp.

A switch flicked softly and Wildrider's hi-beams came on in the dark; Breakdown heard him giggle. "I love it when that happens," he said.

Breakdown realized he was lying back against the curve of Dead End's chassis, but he was too pleasurably exhausted to move. "The… the three of you planned this from the start…"

"No slag," Drag Strip agreed. "Now, who did it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who actually got you off?" Wildrider said. "You have to return the favor now."

Suddenly Breakdown was no longer tired. "The Pit I do." He'd been reading his magazine quietly in the peace and privacy of his room, with the lights on, when he'd been interrupted, half-seduced and half-groped into submission. _And now they expect me to join in whether I want to or not? Did I really miss_ this?

"Hey, we talked about it on the way." Wildrider bounced up and down on his knees. "We'd been kinda neglecting you, and it's been a while since we… y'know. So we thought about taking turns, but this sounded like more fun."

"So we decided that whoever turned your ignition key, you'd do him," Drag Strip finished. "Or me, same thing."

Breakdown tried to get up, only to realize that Dead End's arm was still around his waist. "Well, _I_ didn't decide that. I didn't want to hit the berth with any of you, and I still don't." _So there._

Drag Strip's optics were slivers of hot purple in the darkness. "Well, you're outvoted. Three to one."

"Since when was this team a demography?"

"Democracy," Dead End corrected automatically.

"_Do that again and you'll be last in line,_" Breakdown radioed to him. He allowed his shoulders to slump a little, and felt surreptitiously for the magnifier which he had dropped on his berth when the petting began. "Oh fine, if you want it _that_ badly."

There was just enough light for him to see Drag Strip's satisfied smirk, and Dead End withdrew his arm so that he could slide his hand up Breakdown's back. "So," he said, his voice a low purr, "who was it?"

Breakdown turned and flung the magnifier over his shoulder, at the wall, and straight at the button which folded or lowered his berth. He sprang off a split-second later as the magnifier hit home. The berth snapped up against the wall as he transformed, ignoring the muffled yells behind him.

"Guess you'll have to catch me to find out!" he shouted and raced towards the door, which slid open just in time. He skidded out on two wheels and put on speed, heading for one of the lower levels. Not even Drag Strip could catch him after that head start, and he could--

He turned a corner and slammed straight into a powerful forcefield that killed all his speed. It knocked him back sprawling as he involuntarily transformed again.

_Oh_, he thought in a daze. He'd forgotten about the gestalt bond, the way it transmitted the most intense pain and fear and hate… and desire and pleasure, except those weren't as frequently felt among the Stunticons. It wasn't empathic in nature and it could be blocked, but if it hadn't been--

A hand closed around his arm and drew him up. Purple optics glowed with feral need.

"Going somewhere?" Motormaster said softly.

_The story (of the film, not of what happens to Breakdown) continues in Chapter 7._

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**Taipan Kiryu** : Thanks for commenting! When Mayday cares about anyone (which happens rarely) she either loves them completely or put them up on a pedestal, or both. So when they die, she's devastated. Now she tries to be indifferent – if she doesn't care about anyone, herself included, she can't be hurt.

But that choice has its own disadvantages. And Motormaster is a great contrast to her – as you said, he does care about his team in his own way, although this is a sense of responsibility rather than actual kindness. To me, it's summed up in the simple fact that he sent the other Stunticons to get repairs first, even though he's injured too. But Mayday doesn't notice that and Motormaster doesn't call attention to it.

That last remark of hers was crossing a line, but Motormaster is aware that she's the only medic on the ship. Plus, he saves the physical discipline for the really serious situations, and her being sarcastic to him isn't that bad, not in private and after he more or less asked for it by bringing up the incident. Plus, she's been trained by Ratchet and Hook. I love the mental image of her having tiny versions of them on her shoulders, but neither of them were known for their tact and diplomacy when in the medbay.

Megatron was the main reason she joined the Decepticons, though she also liked the fact that they didn't mind her being cool and reserved, wouldn't expect her to help humans and seemed to need a battlefield medic more than the Autobots did.

**Yuki Hikari** : I'm glad you're enjoying the stories. :) And I think there's something to admire in all the Stunticons, Motormaster included. Of course, there's so much wrong with them as well…

**Fire From Above** : Thanks for your feedback! Yes, part of the fun of using Motormaster and Mayday for the "Caring" fic was just how _un_caring they can both be. Yet when someone does matter to them, they'll defend that person in any way they can.

**Tugera** : Motormaster never before had to get repairs from someone who nearly became a rape victim at his hands. He could tell that his presence was having a _very _bad effect on her (though he doesn't realize how close she came to killing him). I'm guessing that's why he decided to talk about the incident.


	6. Playing With Kids

_Chapter summary : Drag Strip doesn't think Wildrider should have a human friend, and once he gets his hands on the human, the problem will be taken care of. At least, that **was** the plan..._

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**6. Playing With Kids: Drag Strip's Revenge**

If Drag Strip had not been a Decepticon he might have tried to justify his actions, perhaps by saying, _I'm doing this so that Wildrider won't get into trouble for palling around with a human._ Or even, _I'm doing this so that the human won't look like tomato puree after Motormaster finds out._

Since Drag Strip was a Decepticon, though, he didn't need to justify himself to anyone if he wanted to get rid of any human, which included a little pest Wildrider had picked up from somewhere. It was a risk for Wildrider to hang out with the human, sure, but no Stunticon was afraid of risk. Had it been merely dangerous, Drag Strip wouldn't have minded, but he didn't like being left alone when Wildrider went off to see the human.

Not that that happened often – perhaps every couple of months – but it was still unacceptable. _If Wildrider wants to hang out or race with someone, I'm here. So it's not like he needs a human, especially not one who's so malfunctional that it can't even see._

Of course, that made it all the easier for him to deal with the human, but the question was what to do. Drag Strip came to the reluctant conclusion that he couldn't kill the human, or even just break its legs in a few places. If Wildrider ever found out what he had done, Drag Strip had a feeling the consequences would not be pleasant.

On the other hand, what if he just scared it to the point where it reconsidered being a Stunticon parasite? _Yeah, that'd work,_ Drag Strip thought. Put the fear of Megatron into it until it's willing to do anything, then make it tell Wildrider to stop this Autobot slag and go home. Wildrider could hardly argue with that if it came from his little pet, and Drag Strip would be there to console him, agree that humans were so weird and reassure him that they were not worth wasting time with.

With that plan in mind, Drag Strip felt much better. The next step was to find out exactly where the human lived.

That took some time. Wildrider was naïve, but even he might have been a little suspicious on being questioned about the insect's precise location. Drag Strip tried keeping track of Wildrider's comings and goings, but soon realized that there was no pattern to them. Either Wildrider was careful not to visit the squishy regularly, in case someone noticed his periodic detours to that specific place, or Wildrider's insanity meant he was incapable of maintaining such a pattern anyway.

The same effect resulted in either case, though. Drag Strip ended up following his teammate on some escapades that did nothing but waste time, unable to break off and go home because it was always possible Wildrider would run off to see the vermin after smashing into a Radio Shack or the local zoo. Drag Strip had never lacked for determination and persistence, though, and after some time he finally tracked Wildrider down to a small town in California.

That was the latest in a line of attempts to follow Wildrider without being spotted either by him or by the police – a bright yellow Formula One racecar stood out glaringly even at night. As a result he was angry to begin with. He watched from a distance, fuming silently, as Wildrider tapped at a window, waited for it to open and helped the human down from it.

Drag Strip would have liked nothing better to start shooting by then, but he only made a mental note of the address and thought of everything he would say to the little worm when it was just the two of them. _Maybe I'll tell it that Wildrider only hangs out with it because he feels sorry for someone so pitiful. Oh, I'm going to enjoy this._

He decided to put his plan into action as fast as possible. Just the sight of Wildrider actually letting the creature paw at him and climb into his passenger compartment was making him sick, and he wasn't going to let such a degrading thing happen again if he could help it. So the next night, when he was off duty but Wildrider wasn't, he left the base, flew to the mainland and drove until he reached the right location.

The neighborhood was dark and quiet. Drag Strip stopped and transformed when he was about fifty feet away from the house; best not to wake anyone up with the growl of a high performance engine. Besides, he was a little more cautious than Wildrider and wanted to observe the location before plunging in.

He studied the house Wildrider had gone to earlier, but it didn't look as though anyone was awake inside. _Good,_ Drag Strip thought and approached as quietly as he could. He circled the Honda Civic parked on the driveway, just outside the garage, and stepped around the back of the house. Then he rapped beside the correct window.

Nothing happened. Impatiently, Drag Strip knocked again, more sharply, and turned up the gain on his audials as he did so. That detected the soft sound of someone moving closer to the window. _Hurry the frag up,_ he thought.

There was a clicking sound as the human fumbled with a latch. Drag Strip waited, limbs coiled like springs.

The window swung open and the human leaned out a little.

Drag Strip pounced. One hand closed around the small, repulsively soft body and lifted it out of the room in a single fluid movement; he was so fast that the human didn't have time to do more than gasp before Drag Strip brought his other hand down over its head, palm cupped. _There! Even if it screams, no one's likely to hear now. And if it suffocates… well, serves it right for messing around with a Stunticon_.

He pushed the window shut with a twitch of one shoulder, then realized that he couldn't transform, toss the human into his passenger compartment and race off. Since his alt-mode was a racecar, his passenger compartment was open, and the human just might be panicky enough to jump out. Still, it was dark, and he hadn't been spotted. He could always walk far enough to be in a relatively secluded place.

He set a quick pace, heading towards an industrial area he had noticed earlier; it was even less populated at that time of the night. The human squirmed and wriggled until he tightened his fingers just a little each time it struggled, and relaxed his grip when it stayed still. Then it seemed to get the hint. Drag Strip grinned.

A railroad wound its way through the industrial area, including a run-down stretch of rubble-strewn ground that seemed to be set aside for construction. Drag Strip stopped in the middle of that area, looking around. _Ugh, what a place. Might help to scare the human even further, though._

The railroad was on top of a low embankment, and a road ran parallel to that, with a single streetlight that looked ready to flicker out at any moment. Drag Strip stopped by the side of the embankment, which was almost as tall as he was, and decided that that was a good spot to begin the human's education. The wall of dry, packed earth rose to one side of him and would provide some cover. There was no sound except for the soft dripping of muddy water from a large metal pipe buried in the embankment and jutting out a little.

Anticipating tingling in his wires again, Drag Strip leaned down and set the human on the ground, none too gently. The creature staggered, recovered its footing and took a step back, staring up at him with its mouth open.

_Primus, it looks stupid,_ Drag Strip thought. There was just enough light from the streetlight for him to see the human, and it was even smaller than he had expected. Wildrider was really wasting himself on such a pathetic specimen.

"Do you know who I am?" he said. His voice came out in a low growl.

The human stared at him, then looked around as if unable to believe what had just happened to it. _Is it in shock?_ Drag Strip wondered. _What a wimp._

Then the human turned back to him. "You…" Its voice was so soft that if his audials had not been adjusted he would not have heard it. "You look like the Autobot who came to my school last--"

"I look nothing like some fragging Autobot!" Drag Strip snapped. "Which one was it?"

"S-sunstreaker."

Drag Strip's lip curled. "That preening psychopath? If he ever..."

His voice trailed off as something occurred to him. Wildrider's human was supposed to have malfunctioning optics, so how had it known he and Sunstreaker had paintjobs of the same color?

Suddenly feeling as though he had swallowed frozen energon, he leaned down. The human automatically retreated, though that brought its shoulders thumping into the side of the metal pipe. It never once looked away from him, though, and when he tilted his head he saw its optics track the movement.

_Oh no. No way._ He looked at the rest of the human, noticing the short hair and Batman pajamas for the first time. Wildrider's pet was a female.

_I got the wrong one._

"Where is she?" he snarled. The human gasped, bringing its tiny hands up before its chest as if they could make any difference. "If this is a trick I'm gonna rip your head off!"

The human's ventilations came fast and hitching, but it didn't reply. Drag Strip straightened up, clenching his jaws. It couldn't have been a trick, they couldn't possibly have known what he was going to do, but how could this have happened?

"Where… is… she?" he gritted out.

The human sniffled. "Who?" it said in a very small voice.

"Wildrider's friend!" That got him a blank look. _Great, he doesn't know Wildrider and I don't know the little snot's name._ "The girl! The blind one!"

"Y-you mean Geri?"

Drag Strip felt a sudden hope. Maybe he could still salvage something out of this mess. "You know her?"

"She's my c-cousin."

Humans had complicated familial hierarchies, and Drag Strip didn't even begin to understand them. "Why were you in her quarters?" he said, then hissed in impatience when the human looked blank again. "I mean, her room?"

"We're on vacation. So we're staying with Uncle Mark till Tuesday… and Geri said Charlie and me could sleep in her room."

Drag Strip could have groaned aloud. Especially when he remembered that as he had investigated the house, he had seen a car parked _outside_ the garage – why park it outside unless there was another car inside? And two cars meant two families in the house.

Then another realization hit him, a worse one. Charlie and me, the brat had said. So there had been another human in the room in at the time. What if he had been spotted? He could deal with the police or even Autobots on the hunt for him, but what if the news got back to Motormaster and _he_ thought that Drag Strip was a squishy-lover too?

The horror of that nearly made his systems stutter. _No, keep calm, take it easy. All I have to do is put the creature back where I found it and everything will be okay._ He looked around to make absolutely certain that no one was within sight.

In the moment when he was distracted, the human moved.

Drag Strip caught the flicker in his peripheral vision and turned at once, but it was already too late. The human couldn't have gone far without being caught; it was too weak and Drag Strip too fast. But rather than running, it ducked into the metal pipe instead, like a bit of dirt drawn into a vacuum tube.

Drag Strip let out a startled yelp and flung himself forward, shoving his hand into the pipe. Or at least he tried to. The metal edges scraped against his knuckles and he realized his hand was too large to fit. With the gain on his audials turned up, he heard the human scrambling down the pipe, making little high-pitched sounds of fear all the while.

Pulling his hand free, Drag Strip got up, wondering where the metal pipe ended. On the far side of the embankment, he realized, which meant he couldn't simply rip the whole thing free and tilt it to make the human fall out. He bent down again, intending to say something persuasive, and put his face close to the pipe.

A clot of something wet and slimy hit him between the optics.

Drag Strip jolted up at once, choking in disgust, and wiped his face clean. Then he kicked the pipe as hard as he could, though unfortunately that only hurt his foot and made the human shriek for help. Its cries rose above even the echoing _clangggg_ of the impact.

"Shut up!" Drag Strip drew his gravito-gun and went to his knees, grimacing at the soft cool mud against his plating. He leaned down and shoved the muzzle of the gun into the pipe. "You see this? It's a laser and I'm going to blow you into bits if you don't _shut the frag up_!"

Mercifully that seemed to have some effect. The screams stopped, though the human continued to whine for its parents. "I said shut it! They can't hear you. In fact…" An idea struck him. "If you don't come out right now, I'm going to drive back to the house and shoot everyone there."

He really hoped that would work, since his gun was more or less useless under those circumstances, yet he didn't dare leave the mouth of the pipe in case the human escaped. For a moment he thought he had succeeded, because the human fell silent as though thinking through what he had said.

"I'm – I'm not coming out," it said finally. "S-sunstreaker said 'cepticons are all liars and we shouldn't believe anything you say, so I'm not gonna believe you."

Drag Strip hit the pipe with the barrel of his gun. "Well, Sunstreaker's an idiot!"

"And you're a big bully!"

Before Drag Strip could reply to that, a faint sound in the distance made him look up. He saw a pinpoint of light in the distance, a firefly glow that was coming closer, but what vehicle made it was several yards off the ground. Drag Strip frowned, then glanced at the rails at the top of the embankment. They vibrated very slightly.

_Must be a train_. Best to let it go by; shooting it would attract attention that he didn't need. And it was going surprisingly fast, so maybe it wouldn't notice him, unless…

He checked the energy signature. _Please let it be a human vehicle. Please let it be--_

_Astrotrain._

'_Cause the night was just not going badly enough for me._ Drag Strip crouched down at the mouth of the pipe and leaned back against it, blocking the entrance while trying desperately to look casual and natural. _La la la, just resting here for a bit._ He pretended to check the settings on his gun, hoping Astrotrain would choo-choo on by and leave him be.

Naturally the triplechanger hit the brakes a moment later and came to a halt on the embankment just above him. Drag Strip turned his head until his neck ached from the effort, trying to look up without moving away from the pipe.

"Oh hey, Astrotrain," he said.

"What are you doing here?" Astrotrain said.

_Good question._ Drag Strip fell back on a default response among the Stunticons – when in doubt, invoke one's immediate superior. "I'm sure if Motormaster wanted you to know that, he'd have told you."

Astrotrain still didn't move. "You guys had better not be poaching on my sector."

"Your what?"

"I'm salvaging stuff from here to build… well, it doesn't matter. But you'd better not be taking anything."

Drag Strip snorted with contempt. "Please. You're welcome to all the slag here, Astroturf--"

"Help me!" a small voice howled from inside the tube.

Drag Strip drove his elbow against the side of the tube as hard as he could, with the result that he had to bite back a scream of pain. Astrotrain wasn't capable of much expression in his alt-modes, but his voice sounded startled when he said, "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"I heard someone calling out."

"Oh, that's just Breakdown. He hid inside this when he saw someone coming – you know how he hates being looked at."

Astrotrain's lights flickered. "Breakdown is inside that drainage pipe?"

"Yeah, and he's just seen something…" Drag Strip cupped a hand behind an audial as if listening carefully. "There's a light at the end of the tunnel? Go towards it, Breakdown! Go towards the light!"

Steam rose in a plume from the smokestack as Astrotrain's wheels began to spin again. "Mad, they're all raving mad…" was the last thing Drag Strip heard him say before he disappeared into the darkness as fast as he could. Drag Strip sighed with relief and rubbed his aching elbow.

"Will you just come out from there?" he said in frustration.

"No!"

Since ordering him and threatening him hadn't worked, Drag Strip reluctantly decided he had no choice but niceness – or his best imitation of it, anyway. "What's your name?" he said.

"I'm not telling you. You're mean."

"Well, _duh_. I'm a Decepticon. What the frag did you expect?" Drag Strip pulled air in through his intakes. "Look, I'll tell you my name. It's Swindle. Now c'mon, what's yours?"

There was a long pause before the human said quietly, "Jon."

_Thank Primus. And it just took me –_ Drag Strip checked his internal chronometer – _twenty minutes to get him to trust me enough to say his designation. At this rate I should have him out of there by next year._ "Okay, Jon, why don't you come out and let me take you home?"

"Sunstreaker said--"

"Sunstreaker doesn't know what he's talking about. I haven't killed you yet, have I?"

That didn't seem to have the desired effect, and Drag Strip thought he could hear the boy shuffling away down the pipe. _Slag it all. I need another way to…_

Some of the junk lying nearby caught his optic – there was a long wooden stake that seemed to have been broken off something. He reached for it and drew it closer, talking as he did so to cover the sounds of his movements. "Come on, you're not a coward, are you? Frag, your nasty little glitch of a cousin hangs out with a 'con and nothing's happened to her." _Yet._ Though she had been at the top of Drag Strip's "Humans I want to run over multiple times" list, at least until that night.

He found a length of steel – it looked like a short, thin conducting rod but was sharp at one end – and bent it into a hook. Then he wrapped the other end tightly around the tip of the stake. "Hey Jon, you like fishing?"

"Yeah," the boy said warily.

"Great. You're the fish."

Fast as always, he twisted around and shoved the rod into the pipe, jerking and jabbing it until the hook caught. Then he yanked it back towards him.

He heard a ripping sound and Jon screamed. Drag Strip could tell he hadn't snagged the boy – he would have registered a weight at the other end of the rod if he'd been successful – but the wail died off into a weird, choking sort of cough. Drag Strip pulled the rod completely out and held the hook up to his optics, wondering if he had damaged the boy very badly.

There was a tiny scrap of blue cloth on the end of the hook, but no sign of blood, and the water that continued to seep slowly out of the pipe was a clear brown. Jon's gurgling noises trailed off into silence. _Ha ha, nice performance, Drag _Strip thought sourly.

"Stop faking," he said. "I can tell you're not hurt."

There was a long pause before Jon said sulkily, "How?"

Drag Strip didn't reply; he felt equally sullen, not to mention exhausted. His chassis was smeared with mud and the paint scraped off his knuckles where he had tried to force his hand into the pipe. He'd try again with the hook, but he decided to lull the boy into a false sense of security first; from the faint, hollow sound of Jon's voice, he'd retreated even further. _Maybe I should stick some food on the end of the hook, like a steak or something. _

"Charlie can tell when I pretend too," Jon said.

"Who the frag is Charlie?"

"My brother."

"Well, that's how I can tell. I've got a brother or three too."

"Really?" Jon said. He seemed to be mulling it over, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded less distant. "Are they bigger than you?"

"Yeah." Drag Strip had been built for speed, which meant he was the most streamlined and aerodynamic of the Stunticons… but his open-wheeled alt-mode also made him the lightest of them all. He often came off worse in their tussles, though that only made him more fiercely determined to win the next time.

"Charlie's bigger than me, too," Jon confided. "He's ten and when his friends come over they don't want me to play with them."

_Just like Wildrider and that bitch._ "Mine are like that too sometimes." And it wasn't just Wildrider. Drag Strip had often been left out of a rowdy 'con celebration after a successful raid, and once or twice even the other Stunticons hadn't included him in the games Breakdown thought up. He knew he wasn't popular, but most of the time he told himself that that was only to be expected when he was so much better than everyone else.

"Once Daddy told them they had to play with me, so they dressed me like a cat and tied me up with a skipping rope." Jon paused, shifting a little closer. "But I didn't say anything, 'cause I wanted to be part of the game so bad."

Drag Strip was suddenly grateful that his teammates had never tried anything like that with him, because if he had been desperate enough for their company, he might have gone along with the humiliation as well. "Did you tell your father about that?" He switched his audials back to their usual setting; he didn't need to turn up the gain any longer.

"Uh-uh. Charlie and me don't tattle."

"That's right," Drag Strip said. _You don't snitch on your teammates._ No matter how much he hated Wildrider's hanging out with a human, he would never have told Motormaster anything about--

_The frag am I doing, talking to him? _

He plunged two fingers into the mouth of the pipe in an utterly frantic last-ditch attempt, jabbing as far as he could and scissoring his fingertips closed around whatever they caught. Jon didn't have time for more than a startled squeal before Drag Strip hauled him out by one ankle and dropped him in a small muddy heap on the ground.

"Now you listen to me!" he snarled. "I'm taking you back home and you're not to say a word to me. Or anyone else. Got that? Not one… fragging… word!" He didn't know if all human children were so impossible to deal with, or whether it was just the ones in that particular family, but he was sure of one thing. He didn't want to be near any of them again.

Ever.

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**Tugera:** I hadn't actually written slash before, so I'm glad you liked that. Ah well, first time's the hardest. ;) I'm sure I'll find it easier next time – there's still the "Horny" prompt…

**Taipan Kiryu** : That's exactly what I was aiming for – eroticism, but of the subtle variety. I wanted the other Stunticons to be aggressive, but not too obviously so, and Breakdown definitely needed a fighting chance. He's often written as the Stunticon bicycle, but with that special ability of his, he could take care of almost any adversary.

And as you say, Motormaster doesn't need to take part in any games to get what he wants. Or who he wants, for that matter.

No more fics. ;) I still have to finish these two, then try the time-travel story and polish the one starring Mayday. I'm just hoping I don't get intrigued by any other combiner teams along the way!

**demonicSuperCow** : Yes, if Breakdown had stayed with them the story would've had a different ending. But that's part of the fun of writing the Stunticons – they usually cause their own problems and get themselves into all kinds of messes. They're their own worst enemies in so many ways.

Thanks for your review!


	7. Interlude: Meeting with Silverbolt

_Chapter 7 summary: Stephanie discusses a problem with the Aerialbot commander. _

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**Interlude: Meeting with Silverbolt**

Each Wednesday as Stephanie drove back home from the sets, a police car would pull up alongside her and she would have her weekly meeting with Prowl. At first she had been a little nervous; unlike the Stunticons, he could make her feel that way without towering over her, yelling or making threats. But she soon realized that he was genuinely concerned about the safety of her crew as well as of the Autobot part of her cast.

So she gave him a report every week. At first she had related everything she overheard the two factions say to each other, but she soon realized that Prowl was indifferent to insults – apparently those were par for the course when Autobots and Decepticons met in any capacity. As long as no one was being maimed or murdered, he was fine.

Stephanie was less than fine that Wednesday, though, and she was so preoccupied by the latest problem that she didn't even notice the Concorde until it flew low overhead, casting a shadow across her pickup. She braked as the huge white plane landed some distance away and transformed. In her peripheral vision she saw a cloud of dust as Prowl approached, but she couldn't look away from the Concorde.

For the first time she was genuinely scared. This was evidently an Aerialbot and probably their leader – had he heard about what had happened on the set? Would he pull his troops out?

Prowl stopped beside her and transformed. "This is Silverbolt," he said with a nod of his helm towards the Concorde.

"Hello." Stephanie's voice came out small and thin.

Silverbolt went to one knee, which she thought was nice of him; the Decepticons never bothered to do so. And considering how much smaller than them she was, it wasn't easy to impose authority on them. She'd finally taken to carrying a megaphone, which had helped – prior to that, Drag Strip had had an irritating habit of pretending he couldn't hear her. More importantly, though, she'd learned never to show that she was at all intimidated or upset by them.

The Aerialbots were a little better, though not very much so. Still, she couldn't afford to lose any of her cast. She looked up at Silverbolt warily.

"Silverbolt is just here to be appraised about his team's progress," Prowl said.

_Maybe he didn't hear about it,_ Stephanie thought. "Fireflight and Skydive are a pleasure to work with," she said, feeling as though she was a teacher meeting with a parent. "They do their best to act their parts and to follow direction."

Silverbolt smiled faintly. "But Air Raid and Slingshot are another matter?"

The smile reassured her a bit; it didn't seem as though she would be telling the Aerialbot leader too much he didn't know already. "They're a little more… uh, boisterous and they tend to pull the other two off track. I could deal with that, though." She hadn't intended to open up so quickly, but there was something steadying about Prowl even when he wasn't speaking, and she couldn't help liking Silverbolt. "It's Drag Strip and Fireflight."

"What about them?" Prowl said.

Stephanie pulled herself up to the hood of her pickup, which was starting to cool down a little, and sat. "Fifteen takes today." She pushed her hair back from her face. "I told them we are not filming _The Burning Bed _or _Sleeping with the Enemy – _we're filming an adaptation of _Romeo and Juliet_. Makes no difference at all. They hate each other and the cameras would capture that faithfully even if they weren't screwing up their scenes together."

Silverbolt and Prowl exchanged a look. "Well, the Aerialbots were created to fight Decepticons," Prowl pointed out. "Specifically, the Stunticons. It's not surprising that they would feel some hostility, and would find it difficult to overcome that response even when acting a part."

"Dead End says the same thing, only the other way around." Stephanie sighed. Her cast performed fight scenes beautifully, partly because they did hate each other so much that those interactions came off as very authentic. But by the same token, the romance fell flatter than something Bonecrusher had driven over repeatedly. "Tell me, why did the Aerialbots try out for these roles? Not that I don't appreciate it – because I do – but didn't they know that I already had three Stunticons in the cast?"

"They were well aware of it," Silverbolt said dryly. "But Air Raid got bored with doing Grand Canyon runs at Mach 1 and wanted something a little more challenging."

Stephanie couldn't help smiling; that did sound like Air Raid, though her amusement didn't last long. "I just don't know what to do," she said. "Any suggestions?"

Silverbolt rubbed his chin. "Would casting someone else in Fireflight's part work? He's really proud of getting one of the lead roles, and I'd hate to take that away from him, but the film's more important than the actors."

Stephanie would have hugged him if she had been the hugging type and if she had been able to reach any higher than his shin. "We tried Air Raid as Juliet. I thought he and Drag Strip were going to kill each other." The worst part hadn't even been separating the two; it had been watching, from the corner of her eye, as the cast half-drifted and half-lined up on opposite sides, reflexively preparing to attack. The Aerialbots were just as clannish as the Stunticons, and weren't going to take anything lying down.

At that point Stephanie had really begun to regret her decision to draw on both sides for her cast, but it was too late. She needed the actors; if she lost either faction, the film would fall through. Worse, a couple of her sponsors had been brought on board by the fact that hers would be the first film ever made with both Autobots _and_ Decepticons, so she couldn't change that now. She felt trapped, worried and exhausted, not to mention angry with her cast.

"And Fireflight makes an excellent Juliet," she said, which was true. He had a look of wide-eyed wonder and innocence that was perfect for the role, yet when his back was to the wall she saw the steel beneath the softness. "For that matter, Drag Strip makes a good Romeo. It's just that any time they're in the same scene, I'm braced for a fight. Tony says that we could film them together and call it _Romeo and Juliet: Ten Years, Three Kids and a Mortgage Later._"

Silverbolt didn't even smile. "And they mess up their scenes together, you said?"

"Yes, in stupid ways." Drag Strip had been the instigator. When he'd been sure the cameras couldn't catch it, he'd whispered some threat to Fireflight. So the Aerialbot had kicked him, and Drag Strip had stumbled back and fallen into part of the scenery. Stephanie was certain he had done that deliberately – Drag Strip was agile and quick on his feet otherwise – but by then she had been too busy dealing with the two of them, keeping Slingshot and Wildrider out of the situation and calming down Long Haul, who took any damage to the sets personally.

"I don't need them to have actual chemistry, only to tolerate each other," she said. "The audience won't expect a love story for the ages, they'll be interested in just seeing Autobots and Decepticons sharing the screen. But those two can't even do that much."

"I have an idea," Silverbolt said slowly.

_The story continues in Chapter 9: Romeo Must Die. Thanks to Taipan Kiryu for suggesting the title!_

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**Yuki Hikari** : Does Wildrider just drive into buildings for the lolz? Yes, pretty much! After all, that's one of the first things he did upon being created; watch "The Key to Vector Sigma, Part 1". You'll love the Stunticon moments in it.

I'm guessing that Drag Strip will toss Jon right back through the bedroom window so that he can clean up without any of the adults discovering him. Of course, Geri would probably find out and be very pissed off.

**Taipan Kiryu** : The Stunticons are more jealous than any of the other combiner teams – the Combaticons, for instance, don't seem to have a problem about Swindle hanging out with humans. Then again, I think that's one side-effect of having a stronger gestalt bond. And of course, Drag Strip is just more insecure than the rest of them and doesn't want to share his friends with anyone.

Yes, Astrotrain was probably trying to construct another Astroforce. Someone really ought to write a story where he finally gets to have an army of those trains again, or where we see why that project is so important to him. :)

**tomorrow4eva** : Glad you like the parallels between them. Drag Strip does realize at the end that he and Jon have something in common, but being Drag Strip, that's a one-step-forward-two-steps-back event. He won't go the Wildrider route and end up with a human friend of any kind.

**Fire From Above** : This was definitely an idea that quickly turned into a disaster. Thanks for your review!


	8. On Their Knees

_Chapter 8 summary: Defeated and taken prisoner by the Autobots, the Stunticons are offered a choice. Takes place during the episode "Masquerade"; nine lines of dialogue towards the end of the chapter are direct quotes from that episode._

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_**8. On Their Knees: Rehabilitation**

Breakdown drew back into a corner of the cell, fighting an urge to offline his optics. Bad as it was to have the Autobots staring at him, showing fear in front of them would not only be humiliating, it would enrage Motormaster. It didn't matter that Motormaster was in a cell too. The gestalt bond made him only too aware of whatever his teammates felt.

And at the moment that bond burned with fury and pain and frustration, the Stunticons' emotions as thick as molten metal flowing back and forth between the four cells. Two of the Autobots had hauled Dead End away somewhere else, and Breakdown could only hope it was to their repair bay rather than to an interrogation room. He shivered involuntarily. Dead End was the calmest of them all – albeit because he didn't care about anything – but his apathy tended to anchor the gestalt bond, stabilizing and cooling it down.

Now, though, it felt like having shot brakes and runaway acceleration, except there was nowhere to go. And the fact that they couldn't speak to each other privately made matters worse, concentrating and amplifying their reactions. Breakdown struggled to keep calm; if he became unsettled (in other words, terrified out of his wits), his teammates would feel that too.

"Didn't you even _try_ to fight them?" Motormaster's voice was a low rumble, pitched so that the Stunticons could hear him but the Autobots on guard just outside the cells were unlikely to do so.

Breakdown knew he was being spoken to. Although all the other Stunticons had been damaged – Motormaster and Dead End the worst of all – he'd escaped with relatively little in terms of injury. His paint was blistered, taillights cracked by intense heat and rear bumper half-melted, but that was hardly serious by their standards.

"I – I couldn't." His voice came out in a whisper, his optics still fixed on the Autobots. "I was carrying the laser lenses so I couldn't transform, and then my fuel pump sprung a leak." The next thing he knew, he was on fire. "And my f-forcefield--"

"All our fragging forcefields," Drag Strip said bitterly.

Motormaster's engine sounded like tectonic plates shifting deep beneath the earth and his voice was much the same when he spoke. "I'll deal with whoever's responsible for _that_ when we're back in the base. For now…"

_For now we find a way out of here,_ Breakdown knew. He just had no idea how they would do so with the Autobots still waiting outside. And watching. Watching him. Watching him with knowing optics, flame-blue and sharp, peeling back the layers of his armor and every mental defense he could put up, everything laid bare before them, and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide--

"Hey, Breakdown!" Wildrider said. "How many panels in _your_ five-star suite?"

Distracted, Breakdown glanced at the walls and floor and ceiling of his cell. "Forty-two," he said after a moment.

Even with a crumpled grille, broken headlights and leaking radiator, Wildrider managed a giggle. "Drag Strip's only got forty."

"I do not!" Drag Strip said irritably, but Breakdown didn't hear the rest; he was still looking over his cell. There was a tiny vent just above him, through which the Autobots could pump corrosive or poisonous gases, though he could see a glint of something reflective just inside it. _A camera. _He wanted to crawl through the floor.

If he had been able to transform, he might have reached up and disabled the device, but the cell was just large enough for his alt-mode. Transforming was out of the question, which meant he also couldn't pull a weapon out of subspace.

None of them could fire through the bars either. As soon as they had been dragged into the Ark, an Autobot medic had disconnected both their weapons mounts and their radios. Held at gunpoint, there wasn't much the Stunticons had been able to do about that. Breakdown had tried to pull away – the only thing worse than being stared at by Autobots was being touched by them – only to be threatened with either a few shots through his tires or a few Dinobots sitting on him, his choice.

All the components they had taken, following Megatron's orders, had been stolen by the Autobots too. Breakdown would have expected a struggle or at least threats from Motormaster if the Stunticon leader had not been in such bad shape. Dead End was little better. Drag Strip had been knocked offline, much to his disgust, and was all but frothing at the mouth with the realization that he hadn't been able to put so much as a scratch on the Autobots who had captured him.

Even Wildrider's cheerfulness was edging over from "default state of what passed for mind with Wildrider" to "desperate attempt to pretend that imprisonment wasn't having an effect". Breakdown shivered again, and glanced through the energon bars at the Autobots. Still staring at him. Why didn't they stop? Why didn't they just leave him alone? Leave all of them alone?

He imagined plunging through the bars somehow and shooting the Autobots, except that there was no way he could get past charged energon bars. And even if he could, the Autobots still had Dead End somewhere, and might deactivate him in retaliation. Breakdown's engine thrummed in distress and he struggled to clamp down on that instinctive response; this wasn't the time for it.

Wildrider began to fidget. Even stuck in alt-mode he couldn't stay still; he shifted on his tires and inched back and forth in his cell. His engine stopped and started up again in a way that Breakdown knew could not be good for it, and a few of the Autobots glanced at him and then spoke quietly to each other. Breakdown hoped that they would power down the bars to see to Wildrider, but they didn't.

They only switched off the bars over one cell when Dead End was brought back in, moving under his own power but slowly and with an armed Autobot on either side. Breakdown sighed silently with relief as the bars recharged; at least the Autobots had repaired Dead End's roof. That had looked as though a pile-driver had hit it, and if not for Dead End being able to correct his mispronounciation on the way, Breakdown would have been afraid that his spinal struts were damaged too.

"Aw," Wildrider said. "They should've at least installed a sunroof."

Dead End said nothing. The hole in his roof had been welded shut and the broken lubricant lines sealed again, but without matching paint – much less the finesse the Constructicons would have brought to the job – the scarring was evident and ugly. _He'd hate anyone looking at him in that condition, let alone Autobots,_ Breakdown thought.

But they were no longer separated, and the taut ferocity that had raged through the gestalt bond subsided a fraction. Breakdown sagged down on his shocks. Being stared at wasn't as bad as being incomplete, having one of the team taken away from the rest of them.

He felt a cold, core-deep contempt. _Motormaster._ What idiots the Autobots were, not just repairing them but keeping them held in the same place rather than separating them and using the threat of deactivation to one to keep the others in line. _Perhaps they've only got as many brig cells as functional processors,_ Breakdown thought. A conviction that they would be out of there passed through the bond, though he wasn't sure where it had come from.

_We'd better be out soon,_ he thought. Wildrider's twitching had gotten worse; he was now actually bumping into the back of his cell as he reversed and drove forward. His taillights flicked on and off. Drag Strip tried to distract him, but it didn't work; when Wildrider was in that kind of condition it took a direct order from Motormaster to have any effect on him.

And Motormaster was silent except for the growl of his engine. His tires were burst and his windows shattered, his trailer crumpled and grille bowed inward, but his stillness had the coiled tension of a spring wound too tightly. He didn't react at all until there was a flurry of movement at the other end of the room.

Then the sudden hate that shot through the gestalt bond was like a jolt of boiling acid. Breakdown stiffened, all fear submerged under the dark concentrated depth of Motormaster's loathing as Optimus Prime walked closer, two other Autobots following. The Autobot leader spoke quietly to the 'bots on guard and they moved away. All the Stunticons watched him as he stepped up to the bars.

"Motormaster," he said. There was no response. "If you'll tell us what Megatron is planning to do with these components, we'll provide more repairs for you and your team. And energon as well."

"If you think any of us will sell Megatron out, you're an aftheaded moron who takes it up the tailpipe from humans." Motormaster's voice was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, and the Autobots busy at a console spun around. Most of them looked startled or furious, though Prime's expression was impossible to see behind his faceplate.

Wildrider snickered, and although everyone was now staring in their direction Breakdown felt relieved. Like the rest of his teammates, he hated and feared Motormaster, but he would much rather have had a leader with unshakeable conviction and strength than one who could be swayed by Autobots.

"All right," Prime said, as though Motormaster hadn't spoken. "If you don't want to tell us anything, that's your choice. But we have to keep you here, and it's also your choice as to whether you'll stay here behind bars or otherwise."

"Otherwise?" Motormaster said.

"Yes." Prime took a step closer. "You're free to join us."

Motormaster laughed. The sound was like two slabs of rusted iron scraping together.

"Think about it," Prime said, without any noticeable change in tone. "We wouldn't separate your team or harm you in any way. We could offer you sanctuary from any Decepticons who might attack you for your decision or punish you for what they'll see as your failure."

_He means Megatron._ Breakdown snarled softly, though the sound was lost under the grating roar of Motormaster's engine.

"You're not to blame for who you are," Prime said when Motormaster's engine subsided to an idle. "Megatron made you like this, but that doesn't mean you can't change."

_He's calling us defective mechanisms._ Breakdown felt resentful. It didn't matter that he was afraid of being looked at, it didn't matter that Wildrider was crazy or Drag Strip obsessed with winning. That was who they were. No Autobot had the right to imply that there was something wrong with them for being who they were.

"And what d'you want to change us into?" The sneer in Motormaster's voice was evident. "Slag-soft Autobots, like you?"

"I wasn't the one who had to be towed back to the Ark," Prime said.

Breakdown knew in that moment that Prime had blown any chance of ever reaching Motormaster, not that he had had one in the first place. Motormaster would never forget that humiliation being rubbed in his face, especially not in front of the other Stunticons. They could all feel his rage growing like the mushroom cloud of an explosion, and it was all the more frightening because he was silent.

Prime seemed to sense that he had said the wrong thing. "We don't want to harm you," he said. "Only to help you."

"By brainwashing us?"

"If I were brainwashing you, I'd order you reprogrammed to hate the Decepticons. We're giving you a choice between the two factions – but we want you to make an informed choice rather than a fallback to the only one you know. That's why we want to help you see that there's more to it all than Decepticon ideology."

"Lot of hot exhaust. I can say it all in one word. Brainwashing."

"Education and possible rehabilitation." Finally there was an edge to Prime's voice. "Once that's done you'd have your privacy, your freedom of movement--"

"Your fragging foot on the backs of our necks." Motormaster's ruined tires began to turn, pushing him forward. The motion must have been painful, but Breakdown doubted he could feel anything beside fury. "That's what we'll get. And what'll we lose? Our home. Our place in the Decepticon Army. Even our _name_ – we won't be Stunticons any more, we'll be your pets, like you lot are the humans' pets. How stupid _are_ you, Prime?"

His voice was a grinding thunder, and the growl of engines echoed it as he continued to inch closer to Prime. "And trying to turn us against our leader? Against our creator?" The bars sizzled as they burned through grey paint and ate into armor; Motormaster didn't seem to notice. "Just for that, you fragging spawn of a pleasure drone, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to--"

Prime turned and walked away. Even though Breakdown couldn't see much from his position in the upper cell, he knew Motormaster was trembling with rage. Slowly he backed away from the bars. There was a stench of superheated metal and fumes in the air.

Prime and most of the other Autobots left the room; the ones on guard detail settled down at various consoles. For a long time it was quiet.

"Cars behind bars," Wildrider murmured. He began to rock on his tires. "Hell in a cell."

_Bad sign, _Breakdown knew at once. When Wildrider talked like that, he was starting to slip off the edge. And the Autobots had noticed it too; one of them nudged the other, pointed at Wildrider and shook his head. "All messed up and nowhere to go," he said, and the other Autobot chuckled.

_Frag you_, Breakdown thought. He made himself look away from them, and glanced at the three Autobots busy on the other side of the room. _They've got their backs to us, but it might not be safe to talk. These cells are bugged. They're still watching--_

The rumble of an engine from the other end of the room caught his attention, but what made him freeze was the black semi with purple windows that drove past the cells. There was a sudden silence from even Wildrider's cell.

_The slag is that?_ Breakdown thought, though it all became clear when the four sports cars fell into obedient formation behind the semi. The one that looked like Dead End actually laughed as he raced to keep up. Breakdown hoped he would do that when any other 'cons were nearby to hear; that would blow the disguise.

_So much for all their talk about treating us well,_ he thought. The Autobots seemed determined to separate them from the rest of the Decepticons one way or another – if not by brainwashing them, then by impersonating them and trying to make Megatron believe that they were traitors. He could taste the new, sharp loathing that flowed into the gestalt bond as his teammates realized that too, but he also felt that hate honing a fierce determination. _No, they're not going to win. _

_Or at least, we're not going to lose._

"We've got to warn Megatron about them phony Stunticons." Motormaster twisted from side to side, looking around for any weaknesses in his cell.

_That's it,_ Breakdown thought, _distract whoever's watching._ Most of the Autobots' attention was likely to be on Motormaster rather than on him, even though mechs and humans always stared at him, always. But it wouldn't be for much longer. His engine had revved to near fever pitch while Prime had insulted and threatened them; one silent command later and the vibrations it began to emit were raking and dissonant. He just hoped his teammates would keep talking to cover up the sound.

"But how?" Dead End said, speaking for the first time since he had been dragged in. "We can't use our radios. Our vehicular modes are busted."

_Maybe when we're back home we can have a nice long polishing session,_ Breakdown thought. That gave a little extra edge to the vibrations from under his hood, and his entire chassis shuddered.

"And the energon cells keep us stuck the way we are." Drag Strip lowered his voice, evidently feeling he had to contribute something besides the obvious. "Thrusters still work, though…"

Wildrider giggled. "Hey Breakdown, just 'cause you're scared, you don't have to shake yourself silly!"

_Scared?_ Breakdown could gladly have decked Wildrider if they had been in the same cell (and in root mode). "I'm not! But if I vibrate hard enough maybe I can short out my energon bars." He was used to causing mechanical failures in other engines, but if the vibrations grew strong enough, they might disrupt the flow of electricity that charged the bars.

"Or else you might just give us all systems failure," Dead End said. "Not that I care either way, but I'd rather not die looking like a wreck."

Breakdown hesitated; his engine did affect even his teammates when the vibrations were strongest. He couldn't knock any of _them_ out.

"I'd rather not die at all," Drag Strip said. "Hurry up, Breakdown!"

"Keep going," Motormaster said, and that was enough for Breakdown to continue. A moment later there was a hiss and a fizzle. The hot glow of the bars disappeared. Breakdown released his grip on his brakes and shot forward, drawing on all his strength, every ounce of horsepower from his engine and all the force of the gestalt bond; he had one chance to break those bars, here they came, _now!_

The impact hurt his grille but the pain was small compared to the surge of triumph that shot through his circuits as the bars cracked and splayed outward. He was out, transforming as he sailed through the air to land on his feet, and freedom had never felt so good.

"As I predicted!" he said happily as the Autobots spun around. He pulled his rifle from subspace.

"Hey, how'd he get out?" one Autobot said, just before Breakdown fired on all three of them. At the weapon's highest setting, their systems malfunctioned instantly and went up in flames. M_aybe you ought to… oh, watch prisoners a little more closely and then you'd know,_ he thought as he turned to face the cells.

"Everybody out on bad behavior!"

* * *

**Taipan Kiryu** : I like Prowl too. I'd like to have him in more fics, though he's been done in so very many stories already that I'm not quite sure where to begin.

As for Silverbolt's idea… well, it doesn't quite work out as he hopes it will. Let's just say that the title of the next chapter isn't too much of an exaggeration…

**Yuki Hikari** : Sure, you can find those episodes on YouTube. Though I watched them again recently and was surprised at how little airtime and dialogue the Stunticons got. They're complex enough (and so entertaining) in fanon that I forget how thinly sketched they were in the cartoon.

Motormaster should make an appearance later, but I'm not sure if he has interactions with humans or not. I get the impression that he doesn't notice humans any more than we notice ants.


	9. Interlude: Romeo Must Die

_Chapter 9 summary: Stephanie puts Silverbolt's idea into practice and deals with Drag Strip. Continued from Chapter 7. Title inspired by Taipan Kiryu._

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_**Interlude : Romeo Must Die**

When the request came over the communicator they had given their director, Drag Strip was inclined to refuse. The Seekers – all six of them – had said something about stormflying later on in the day, which was fine for them but wasn't weather Drag Strip wanted to be caught in.

At least, not unless he had Autobots to harass or teammates to play with. But Dead End was on watch, which meant he monitored screens when anyone looked his way and read through an e-book otherwise, and Wildrider, who hadn't been called for, was halfway through _Maximum Overdrive_ and didn't want to leave. So Drag Strip had started to say that he would do it another time, when Tony mentioned that they needed to get some close-ups of him. "And please try to be here soon," he said. "You'll need to be in makeup as well."

The director called it "makeup" through long habit, but Drag Strip thought of it as a good polishing session – humans going over his chassis with brushes and rags and soft buffing pads, touching up paint, cleaning out his wheel-wells, using rubbing alcohol on his glass, until his frame gleamed smooth as enamel and bright as a mirror. He always looked dazzling afterwards, like part of the sun fallen to earth.

And the best part was that it was all perfectly legit. No Autobot could interrupt – which wasn't the case when the Stunticons had previously demanded cleaning or repairs from other human facilities. So Drag Strip left the base shortly afterwards, looking forward to being taken care of and fussed over. Close-ups were good too; if that was all they'd be filming, perhaps he wouldn't need to do any scenes with the Aerialbots.

Who were all still active, though it wasn't for lack of trying on Drag Strip's part. He'd switched a loaded gun for an empty one the day before, but he hadn't realized that one of the human crew checked all the props before the cameras started rolling. The substitution was discovered, though Stephanie said nothing to him or the 'bots. He guessed she didn't want to scare them and was too intimidated by him to take him to task about it.

_Oh well, next time I'll keep the gun in subspace until it's time to make the switch. _

Clouds blanketed the sky and Drag Strip sensed the change in the air, which felt thick and hotter than usual, but he could always tell the crew to turn on one of the big fans when his polishing began. He drove on to the site at his usual speed, noticed the three Constructicons poring over a blueprint – probably how to protect the sets from the worst of the rain – and slid into a smooth perfect sideways halt just outside the makeup room.

That was a large shed about as makeshift as a Constructicon would ever let himself get away with, but it was large enough for Megatron to stand in, and there were plenty of mirrors. Whenever Dead End wasn't being filmed he could be found before the mirrors, admiring himself in a sad way, probably contemplating how his flawless finish would turn to rust eventually. Drag Strip, having no such hang-ups, just admired himself. Though his attention was drawn away from the mirrors when one of the crew asked if he would transform and get up on the blocks so that they could make sure his undercarriage was clean.

"Why? Do I have to do a flip?"

"We might need one," Tony said from the door. "But if you want to get to work right away, that's fine."

_Work can wait,_ Drag Strip decided. _For now, cleaning and proper attention._ He transformed and rolled up on to the blocks, a primitive replacement for a proper car hoist, but they allowed the other human to wriggle under him and set to work on his undercarriage. He wondered where the rest of the crew were; he felt like getting a fresh coat of polish and wax.

_No reason I shouldn't,_ he thought. There were no other 'cons to share his cleaning session – for some reason the Seekers had passed up on stormflying and had stayed in the _Nemesis,_ but Skywarp hadn't followed him out. So the crew could devote their full attention to him.

Heels clattered on the bare floor and Drag Strip tore his gaze away from the mirror. Stephanie came in and stood just inside the door, watching him.

Not for the first time, Drag Strip wondered just how Stephanie expected to exert any authority over the cast. She was far too small and weak to maintain any kind of physical control, but even if she had been Skywarp's size, it wouldn't have made much of a difference. Drag Strip had been beaten halfway into stasis lock by Motormaster on more than one occasion, so nothing less would have made an impact on him.

He'd half expected Stephanie to yell at him or try to embarrass him in front of the rest of the cast, but she hadn't done that either. So he kept pushing to see what else he could get away with, even though a tiny voice in the back of his mind told him that that wasn't a good idea. _Natural order of things,_ he told himself,_ the strong superior to the weak. Besides, if I keep this up maybe the Aerialbots will leave and we can forget all this romantic slag and make a Shakespeare movie where everyone fights a battle and dies. Except me._

"Drag Strip, I'd like to talk to you," Stephanie said abruptly, straightening up.

_Here it comes,_ Drag Strip thought. The human under him was still working on his undercarriage, so he wasn't going anywhere. "Looks like you got a captive audience," he said.

"No, I think we'd better do this away from the sets," Stephanie said. "I'd rather none of the Autobots hear it, so let's go for a drive. Come on." She turned and walked away.

Drag Strip rolled off the blocks, nearly knocking over the human scrambling out from under them, not that he cared. _Stephanie can't be firing me, can she? Of course not. We've done too much filming with me in the lead role, and there's not enough time left to find anyone else to play me. I mean, play Romeo._ As long as he wasn't being fired, he didn't care what Stephanie said.

_Must be something pretty bad for her to want to do it away from the sets,_ though, he thought as he drove out of the makeup room. Stephanie and Tony were climbing into her pickup. _Oh, he wants to join in too?_

_No paint off my aft. _Drag Strip was used to other Decepticons either hating him or being irritated by him, so human disapproval in any quantity meant nothing. He could listen to whatever the producer and director said with a smirk on his face, and it would be amusing to watch them getting more and more worked up at their failure to force him to do as they wanted.

The pickup's engine coughed into life and it took off, taillights blinking as it slowed down to get past the gates. In the gloom of the overcast day, the red glow looked even brighter, like optics. Drag Strip followed, wishing Stephanie would speed up. It was one thing to chew him out and another to bore him with slow driving.

_And it's not as though there are any speed limit signs out here,_ he thought as Stephanie headed out away from the sets and up into the hills. Five miles out, ten miles… _c'mon, c'mon, let's get it over with._ They were in the shadows of the mountains now, or what would have been the shadows had there been any sunlight. Now the storm threw a far greater haze over everything, and the wind spun eddies of dust along the winding road. Drag Strip decided he would definitely have to be cleaned up and polished once they were back on the sets.

Stephanie kept driving as the road grew narrower. There was a sheer drop on the right, just the kind of thing Wildrider would have loved to jump to see if he could reach the rocks on the other side. To the left, the road hugged the side of a cliff but forked just ahead, peeling off between two of the hills. Drag Strip had just decided to yell at Stephanie to stop and talk to him, because the drive was a waste of time, when the pickup's taillights came on and began to flash.

She braked ahead of the fork in the road, and Drag Strip halted behind her as she scrambled out. "Something's wrong, it'll just be a minute--" she shouted back at him.

_Something's wrong,_ Drag Strip thought. She'd braked but he heard the low rumbling sound of a powerful engine coming closer, picking up speed. He transformed – or tried to. Nothing happened.

His diagnostic took nanoseconds to complete and a red warning flashed up on his HUD even as he threw his transmission into reverse. _Mode lock? How the frag did that--_

The car barreled out of the side road towards him, moving so fast that it was a blue and white blur. _Break--no, Sideswipe,_ was Drag Strip's last thought before the Lamborghini slammed into him. His forcefield negated the damage but could do nothing about the kinetic energy of nearly a ton of metal traveling at a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

The impact flung him off the road. He flipped over, jolted and disoriented, and felt himself falling over the edge of the drop, falling into the ravine below, falling--

The ground hurtled up to meet him and the impact blasted his consciousness apart. Everything went black.

_The story continues in Chapter 11…_

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**Yuki Hikari:** Dead End's and Wildrider's voices are the most distinctive – Dead End has a faint British accent and Wildrider speaks with a broad Western twang. I could probably distinguish the other three, but that's because I've watched their scenes over and over again.

Yes, if you're used to fanfics, you'll be a bit surprised by the cartoon. And I don't just mean the animation and technical inconsistencies. :)

**demonicSuperCow:** I thought Breakdown might have mispronounced "predicted" too, but I wasn't sure about it. He's an appealing character, isn't he? When he gets a chance to be afraid _and_ kick aft despite it.

**Fire From Above:** Now I have to look up this "F-U-N song". Wildrider is consistently entertaining, though. I just completed the "Drinking Energon" fic, where he plays a major role, and he was even more funny when he was drunk as well as loopy.

**tomorrow4eva:** Yes, I didn't really buy the Autobots combining into "Menasor". And shouldn't they have had Autobot energy signatures? But it was great to see Starscream being suspicious – he's such a conniving mech that of course he picks up on that kind of thing in others.

Prime's offer to Motormaster is magnanimous and even kind from one perspective. But from another, just what kind of future will the Stunticons have as traitors, and what will they do on the other side of the fence? At least two of them would have to be lobotomized to get them to follow orders and drive safely and be protective of humans and everything else that one needs to do to be in the Autobot fold. They don't really have a choice about being what they are.

On top of that, add the fact that the Autobots are not going to be _nice _to the Stunticons (because they have little if any reason to be) and joining them will be the worst possible thing Breakdown can imagine. And he's got an active imagination.

**Taipan Kiryu:** I like Dragoness_Eclectic's fic which explains that the Constructicons deliberately sabotaged the Stunticons' forcefields. Even so, though, you'd think the Autobots would have taken more casualties. The Stunticons hit the ground pretty easily in that fic… poor 'con cars.

That's one of the things I like most about Motormaster. No matter how badly beaten or outnumbered he is, he doesn't give in, especially if his team is present. He's their strength, just as Dead End is their calmness.

I'm glad you liked the way this fic fitted in with the episode. First time I've used an episode like that, I think. And I hope you enjoyed "Romeo Must Die"!


	10. Drinking Energon

_Chapter 10 summary: Dead End and Wildrider participate in an energon raid… and end up trapped. _

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_**10. Drinking Energon: When Good Raids Go Bad**

One of Megatron's favorite targets when it came to surprise attacks were energon storage facilities. No specialized equipment was needed to convert any source of energy; the Decepticons could simply descend on such places, grab whatever they could carry and flee with the happy knowledge that whatever they took had been meant for the Autobots.

Dead End didn't think that improved the taste of the energon, contrary to Thrust's claims, and there wasn't much point in the raids considering that all they did was grab just enough fuel to stave off the inevitable for a few days longer, assuming that they weren't deactivated by the Autobots during the raid. And the humans responded by either strengthening or disguising said facilities, or both, making it even more of an effort to attack them, then get out before the Autobots arrived.

Still, he knew better than to say anything when Motormaster ordered the four of them out on one such raid. The place in question was a converted human armory. Since Megatron had no interest in human weapons, that might have fooled him if Autobots with some form of mass-storage capacity in alt-mode hadn't made periodical visits to it. _You can't con a 'con,_ Dead End thought as they approached the storage depot.

Sixteen tons of semi hit the gates at a a hundred miles an hour, which was enough to convince all the humans to either run or seek cover. Dead End stayed well back in case flying debris or organic fluids struck or spattered on his chassis, but unfortunately Motormaster noticed that and ordered him to enter the storage depot first.

_So that I'll set off whatever trap the humans have set up in there,_ Dead End thought, studying the wrenched-open doors of the storage depot with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He looked around in the off-chance that Drag Strip might be talked into racing into the place first, but of course Drag Strip had gone chasing after some of the humans who had gotten away in a jeep. There was no reprieve from his imminent destruction.

"C'mon, I'll go with ya," Wildrider said.

_Oh, even better. I might as well just shoot myself in the CPU now and get it over with. _Wildrider had a habit of giving himself away to anyone in the vicinity and setting off traps by venting at them. _Still, at least I won't die alone._ Sighing, Dead End followed his teammate inside.

The entrance was high enough for humans, but the two of them had to duck their heads to pass through and a light fixture inside thumped Dead End on the top of his helm. He didn't have time to worry about the scrape on his paint, though, because Wildrider hurried ahead to a huge black blast door with orange hazard symbols plastered on it. _Explosive. Yes, there's probably energon and death beyond that door._

"Why don't we get one of the humans to open that?" he said, glancing around in a desultory way. Breakdown was at the main entrance, but he took a step back at the mention of humans.

There was a loud rattling sound as Wildrider tugged on the door and it swung a little. Dead End eyed it warily, braced for a trap.

"It was open!" Wildrider caught the edge of the door – it was almost as tall as he was – and started to pull it ajar. Dead End noted the glow of energon from within and moved closer.

"Better tell Motormaster to pull up and transform," he said to Breakdown. "We'll have to start loading."

"I don't _tell_ Motormaster to do anything. I'm not a mascot."

"Masochist," Dead End murmured automatically as he stepped into the energon storage room. Wildrider stood just inside the door, the light falling on his face as he turned this way and that, staring in fascination at the cubes stacked neatly along the walls. _Enough to stave off starvation for a few days, perhaps,_ Dead End thought.

"Look at all this!" Wildrider said and flung out an arm.

There was a muffled clang and Breakdown shouted, "Watch out!" Dead End reacted instinctively. He threw himself at Wildrider, knocking them both flat and clamping an arm over his head in some futile protection from an explosion or gunfire. He realized a moment later that the sound he'd heard had been Wildrider's arm slamming against the door…

…and sending it swinging shut.

Dead End scrambled up and made a grab for the door, only to realize that there was, for some reason, no handle on the inside. His fingertips slid off the smooth metal – and, he thought, probably completed the job of pushing it into its frame. Breakdown yelped from outside, the sound cut off as the door snicked smoothly shut.

"Ooh, my face." Wildrider rubbed his olfactory sensors.

Dead End tapped against the door and called out to Breakdown, then realized that the door was so thick it blocked off any sounds from outside. Of course, the entire place was designed to protect humans in case all the energon detonated. He activated his radio.

"_Breakdown_?"

"_Are you two all right_?"

"_For perhaps a few seconds longer, until the energon explodes or Motormaster wonders what we're doing in here. Open the door_."

"_How? It locked automatically when it closed, and I don't know the compilation for the lock. Can't you open it from the inside?"_

Dead End ran his hands over the inside of the door, searching for any kind of lock and finding none. Wildrider joined him and hammered at the door with the butt of his gun until Dead End pointed out that that was doing more damage to the gun than to the door. He decided there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. "_You'd better inform Motormaster._"

"_Inform Motormaster of what?_" a deep cold voice cut into the transmission. "_That you two fragged up again? I knew that already._" Drag Strip said something in the background and Motormaster made a sound of disgust. "_Yes, keep watching for the 'bots, slaggit!_" he said. "_They must be on their way but it doesn't matter. I'll take care of the two idiots and the energon as well._"

The comm cut off. Dead End sat down, retrieved a soft cloth from subspace and began to polish his left leg.

"Aren't we gonna keep trying to get out?" Wildrider said.

"How? This place is a vault – even you must have noticed the reinforced walls and door. Even if we succeed, we'll only crawl out in the end, critically low on energy, and look up to see a ring of Autobot guns pointing at us."

Wildrider immediately looked up instead, at the ceiling just a handspan above his head.

Dead End sighed. "May I point out that your gun fires a beam of lasers… and that the interior of this place is highly polished, to better show off its contents to any Autobot visitors? Any ricochet will lead to your striking the energon." He had no great objections to dying – _we might as well get it over with, given that it's likely to occur at any moment_ – but doing so in a blast of detonated energon was not just highly painful, it would leave a twisted, blackened, smoking shell unlikely to be recognized as the best-looking of the Stunticons. That was not exactly acceptable.

"Huh." Wildrider shrugged and subspaced his gun. "Okay, you wanna try?"

"I'm not certain that firing a compressed-air rifle inside this small space is a good idea either." Dead End made himself as comfortable as possible against the door – the other walls were stacked with shelves of cubes – and continued polishing. "Why bother? You heard Motormaster – he's going to take care of two idiots and when he's done with that he'll get us out."

Wildrider sat down as well, then stretched out luxuriously on the floor with a creak and metallic swivel of joints. "You got one thing wrong, Deadster," he said. "We won't be low on energy. We got all the energon we need right here."

"That's true." Dead End stopped polishing and reached for the nearest cube, inspecting it carefully. It was labelled "Industrial Grade". He wondered why the Autobots would be given such a low grade of energon. _Probably intended for captured 'con prisoners – enough to keep them alive but not to do much else._

"The high-grade stuff's over here." Wildrider rolled over, fetched up against the other wall and plucked another labeled cube off the shelf.

Dead End caught the cube as it was tossed to him, then opened both. There wasn't much in the way of fumes, though when he took off his battle mask and tasted them he could tell the difference.

"Whatcha think?" Wildrider said, taking down a cube for himself.

Dead End swirled a little of the high-grade around his mouth. "Light and dry, but yielding to a faint sweet bouquet that just might be full-bodied with further aging."

Wildrider giggled. "That's funny. Here, do it with one of the medium-grade." Another cube flew across the room.

"Mmm. Warm and mellow, but the aftertaste leaves something to be desired. There's a creamy flavor, possibly indicative of a high alkali content."

"What about the low-grade?"

"Ugh! Acidic and astringent, only suited to the Autobot palate. Disgorging any fluids into it would only improve the taste."

"And this?"

"Wildrider, I can't keep drinking these. I'll end up inebriated."

"No, just drunk. And I'll help you!" Wildrider bounced across the room, arms full of cubes and dropped them in a messy heap into Dead End's lap. He picked up one of the half-full (_half-empty_, Dead End thought) cubes that had been tasted and drank it down. "Is that the industrial-grade? Tastes like feet. High-grade. Mmm-mmm! Goes down like a Seeker--"

"If I wanted crude I'd be drinking oil, thank you." Dead End was starting to feel light-headed, and he tried another of the high-grade. "Incompletely oxidized but opulent nevertheless, crisp and vivid and not too viscous." He swirled the liquid in the cube, holding it up to the glow of the rest of the energon. "Megatron should enjoy this."

Wildrider's purple optics flickered with a strange light of their own. "Yeah. Yeah, he should." He leaned back, shoulders to the door and scooped a great armful of the cubes onto his abdominal plating.

Dead End watched him to see if he was planning to hide some of the cubes in his passenger compartment, but Wildrider just seemed to be playing with them instead, though he dropped a few when the entire door shuddered from an impact from the other side. They both watched the door – Dead End preparing to scramble out of the way – but nothing further happened.

_Perhaps the door can stand up to even a charge from Motormaster,_ Dead End thought, _which means that we're trapped in here for the rest of our lives, though those will be prolonged somewhat since we do have so much energon at hand._

"Look, here's an empty one," Wildrider said. "More than one empty one. Two empty ones. Or is that one empty twos?"

"Five cubes, all drained." Dead End was a bit taken aback – had he and Wildrider really drunk all that? _Oh well, the cubes are going to be consumed anyway, aren't they?_ And at least that way, perhaps he would be too intoxicated to feel it when Motormaster finally got them out and slagged them for their carelessness.

"Well, you know what we can do with an empty one?"

"Um, no, I'm afraid I don't. Hide it so Motormaster doesn't realize that we've started drinking these?"

Wildrider grinned. He set the empty cube between them and spun it on one corner.

"I think that only works with bottles, Wildrider."

"Whatever. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with drinking these. We might be in here for years and years and we can't let it go to waste." Wildrider watched as the cube came to a halt. "It's pointing at you."

"So? I'm not kissing you, if that's what you want. Mostly because I keep seeing two of you and can't be sure which one is real."

"Okay, we'll play truth or dare then."

"Truth." Dead End reached for another cube and sipped rather morosely – he felt as though he had crossed over from pleasant tipsiness to being aware once again of the nasty, brutish and above all short nature of life. "I don't think I have the coordination to do anything on a dare."

"Truth, huh?" Wildrider's mouth pursed up. "I got it. When we win the war, which continent d'you want?"

Dead End had been expecting something crazy, so he wasn't surprised. "Firstly, what makes you think we'll win the war? We're outnumbered and most of the humans support the Autobots. We're more likely to be defeated and dragged off to separate internment camps where we'll have to listen to Autobot propaganda while we rust away." He stopped when Wildrider held up a hand and brought his fingers and thumb together repeatedly in a blah-blah gesture. "And secondly, what makes you think we'd get continents?"

"Megatron said Earth belonged to us." Only Wildrider could speak as though he actually believed that; _ah, the joys of insanity_. "'Sides, none of the other 'cons really like it here."

"_I _don't really like it here."

Wildrider continued as though he hadn't heard that. "They'll all go back to Cybertron once they win the war, but Megatron might want someone to stay here and keep an optic on things."

"On a planet devastated by war and drained of all its energy? Yes, I can see us being given so munificent a prize for our efforts. No doubt Megatron will send periodic postcards from Cybertron. Having a wonderful time, do not wish you were here."

"So which continent d'you want?" Wildrider began playing with the cubes again, peeling their labels off. "I figure there's enough of 'em for all of us."

"Whichever one is farthest from the others. Antarctica, perhaps. Of course, the average temperature there being what it is, my fuel and fluid lines will freeze and I'll deactivate in short order."

"Cool. I'll take Australia."

Dead End frowned. "Why Australia?"

"Kangaroos."

From Wildrider's lunatic viewpoint, that might have made sense, but he didn't have the energy to figure it out. "Fine. Australia, you are hereby known as Wildriderland. Please evacuate the continent as soon as possible. Leave all televisions and stereos on."

Wildrider laughed again. "You're funny when you're over-energized. You should do it more--"

The radio pinged on a Stunticon channel and Dead End opened his side of the comm, hoping he would be able to speak without slurring any words. "_You okay?_" Drag Strip said, then continued before either of them could reply. "_We got 'bots on our radar… staying at a distance, the cowards. Motormaster's lasering the door open, but that'll take a few minutes longer."_

"_A few minutes?_" Wildrider immediately stopped reattaching the labels, reached for a full cube and chugged it down in a few swallows.

"_What are you doing?_" Drag Strip said. "_Are you drinking those already?_'

"_No. Glug._"

"_You two better leave some over for us! I swear, Wildrider, I'm going to--_" The transmission was abruptly cut off.

"Did you do that?" Dead End said.

"Uh-uh." Wildrider had finished re-sticking the labels; he polished a sixth cube off with a visible effort and dragged the back of one hand over his mouth. "Thick – thick it was the bosh?"

With a sudden feeling of impending doom, Dead End activated his combat radar. Motormaster's hulking form instantly registered on one side of the energon vault. Two Autobot shapes showed up on the other.

Very close on the other side, perhaps even listening to see what was happening in the vault. Dead End glanced at Wildrider, and as one, they turned to look at the bare shelves on the other side of the room.

Wobbly on his feet though he was, Wildrider gathered the last few cubes from the shelves, piling them in an unsteady little pyramid at the base of the opposite wall. Dead End shunted power away from every other system to his forcefield, then beckoned Wildrider over. The two of them crouched down at the base of the door, as far from the stack of cubes as possible. The rest, a quarter of them empty, were tumbled around their feet.

"Give me your gun," Dead End said over the radio.

Wildrider groped around in a subspace pocket and handed him a clarinet.

Dead End had to restrain himself from hitting Wildrider over the head with that; why ruin a good musical instrument? "_Gun_, Wildrider. Give me your… oh, never mind. I'll do it myself. Just make sure your forcefield's at complete strength."

"I have a forshfield?"

_We're both doomed, _Dead End thought. He transformed, aiming both forward-mounted guns on the stack of cubes and wishing that they wouldn't keep drifting from one side of the wall to the other. "Eat hot… something, Autobots," he muttered, and fired.

The resulting explosion sent him slamming back against the wall, both optical sensors offline and his audials ringing with the sound. He was vaguely aware of small objects clinking and pattering down across his twitching chassis – was that debris or was it Wildrider retrieving more junk from subspace? Did it matter? – but from outside there were groans that he fervently hoped were made by the Autobots. Everything seemed to be moving, though, and all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball, hold his aching head and wait to die.

A hand shook one of his wheels repeatedly. Wincing, Dead End transformed again, his optics slowly coming back online. The first thing they registered was the muzzle of a gun, pointing between them at his CPU.

"Look, I found it!" Wildrider said, waving the gun in his face. The muzzle scraped lightly against Dead End's visor.

"That's very good, Wildrider," he said carefully. "Now would you mind turning around and shooting the 'bots instead?"

The 'bots – Prowl and Trailbreaker – were already scrambling for the building's exit as the roar of high-performance engines rose in the distance, and Wildrider's shots were so off-target that Dead End thought for a moment that he would hit Motormaster instead. To his disappointment, though, Wildrider stopped shooting when he tripped over one of the energon cubes and went over in a heap of flailing limbs.

The Autobots had already made their getaway by then, putting all the speed they could into a headlong flight as Motormaster barreled through the smoking rent in the wall. He transformed and stared down incredulously at the empty cubes.

"Did you two morons drink all those?" he said. One hand shot out, closed around a head-spike and hauled Wildrider closer.

"Leggo!" Wildrider swatted at Motormaster's hand, missing it by a yard or so. "No, we didn't glug that. Puh…" He seemed to be making a great effort to enunciate. "Puh…"

Motormaster's optics narrowed.

"_Pow_ drank it!" Wildrider said triumphantly.

"I'll give you pow!" Motormaster snarled, and proceeded to do just that, shaking Wildrider until he rattled like a crateful of scrap; in the noise and clamor, Dead End's mumble of, "I think he meant Prowl" went utterly unheard. Finally Wildrider dropped to the floor strutlessly and Motormaster picked Dead End up by both shoulder-wheels before slamming him back against the door.

"I've a good mind to take you both to the Constructicons and get them to pump your fuel tanks dry!" he said.

"So you can get the energon back?" Dead End hung limply; he knew he should have felt pain and yet the massive amount of energon in his system meant he registered nothing except a warm, floating numbness. "Won't work, Motorm… muh… msh. Cause I tasted the high-grade and low-grade and medium-grade and high-grade and medium-grade--" There was a hard slap across his face. "Uh… it's all mixed up now. Won't taste so good second time around."

Since the logic in that was evident even to his over-energized processors, he wasn't surprised that Motormaster let him fall a second later, only kicking him in one shoulder for good measure before he turned to Breakdown and Drag Strip. "You two throw the idiots in my trailer and then carry the cubes. I wouldn't put it past these two to start drinking again if they're anywhere near these, and Megatron says that since we all but blew the raid we get the industrial-grade slag!" Muttering threats, he transformed.

Dead End managed to crawl to a half-sitting position when the doors of the trailer slammed shut and Motormaster's engine thundered into life. He was vaguely aware of the remains of the facility crumbling as Motormaster roared out, and Wildrider's optics flickered as he came back online.

"What happen'?" he said, peering around in a mildly confused way.

"We're going home," Dead End said without looking up from the new scrapes and scratches on his armor. He had to fill those in and reapply polish and yet he felt too tired and dispirited to do either. "And Megatron says we only get the industrial-grade energon." What had been the point of the raid? They'd ended up with nothing but minor injuries and distasteful rations to show for it, and he knew they would have just-kill-me-now hangovers the next day.

To his surprised, Wildrider grinned. He tried to push himself into a sitting position against the front of the trailer, but failed and slid slowly lower. When he spoke, half the words were slurred but Dead End could still understand him.

"Remember when I was peeling the labels off the cubes?" he said.

"Yes?"

Wildrider giggled. "Switched 'em. Put the high-grade labels on the ind-indushal-grade stuff and, uh, worse worser."

"Vice versa?" Dead End shifted a little closer, lightly nudging Wildrider's shoulder-tire with his own. Wildrider made a contented purring sound and turned, curling up against him and resting his head on Dead End's shoulder. He slipped quietly into recharge.

After that there was no sound except the rumble of Motormaster's engine. And if Dead End heard a low, rough chuckle beneath that – well, it was due to his being drunk rather than to the two-way intercom system installed in the trailer.

"Australia's a lucky continent," he said after a while.

* * *

**Fire From Above :** Yes, you guessed the reasoning behind the plan. Needless to say, it backfires since Drag Strip doesn't do indebtedness. Go him.

**Taipan Kiryu :** Oh, Silverbolt's plan is indeed painful and potentially deadly. Then again, he's going to be the last mech to lose any recharge over the possibility of Drag Strip getting killed. As for what his plan is, think _Swept Away_ meets _48 Hrs_. At least, that's what the plan is supposed to be. Unfortunately it turns out to be more _The Odd Couple_ meets _Lord of the Flies_.

**tomorrow4eva :** The episode with Prime's body parts ("City of Steel") was one I tried to forget after watching it, even though it featured another of my favorite combiner teams. I don't think the 'bots even suspected the origins of the Alligatorcon despite its coloring.

The Autobots' offer of rehabilitation, while kindly meant, is impossible under current circumstances; as you pointed out, the Stunticons would all need some intense therapy, mental readjustment and character growth, which they're simply not going to receive under wartime conditions even if they wanted it. Given that such a process would take a lot of time, they'd also have 'cons trying to break them out or worse. Megatron isn't likely to let his handmade gestalt rot in an Autobot prison for long. He'd either get them out or kill them himself.


	11. Jealous

_Chapter 11 summary : Left damaged and alone, Drag Strip realizes that it's all been a plot… so now he's damaged and infuriated. But not alone for long. Continued from Chapter 9. _

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**11. Jealous : Hollywood Makes Strange Bedfellows**

Drag Strip came back online slowly. His whole chassis ached, and for a moment he wasn't sure what had happened to him.

Then his memory banks booted up as well and he remembered. Stephanie had lured him out there so that Sideswipe could live up to his loathsome designation. The recollection made him burn with fury. _If she hadn't mode-locked me I'd have turned and fired. If she hadn't been in front of me I'd have driven out of the way – I'm faster than that stupid fragger Sideswipe any day--_

_Never mind the ifs. Get out of here first._

He checked his radar first. Nothing nearby. And since he couldn't hear anything, it wasn't likely that anyone was lying in wait, poised to attack him if he moved. _Besides, he thought, if Stephanie'd wanted me dead I should be, well, dead by now. _According to his chronometer, he'd been offline for nearly half an hour.

The scenario didn't quite make sense to him, but he could think about it later. He activated his optics.

He lay at an angle at the lowest point of the ravine, nearly wedged into a crevice in the rock. Thrusters offline, probably jarred in the fall, though his HUD assured him that they would be repaired in about ten breem. His forcefield had protected him otherwise. Everything else still worked except for his transformation sequence, and that was because of the fragging mode-lock the human had slipped on him while pretending to clean him.

_Doesn't matter. I can get myself out of here in alt-mode._

His engine grumbled into life as he looked around, wondering which way to go. The road was a good hundred feet above him. With his thrusters he could have driven vertically up the face of the cliff towards the road; without them, that was not an option. The clouds overhead were a thick, roiling grey and he knew the storm would break very soon.

He decided he would simply have to drive along the ravine until it grew shallower and allowed him back on to level ground. _It's either that or radio for help._

Drag Strip decided against the latter option. The last thing he needed was his teammates (or horror of horrors, Motormaster) finding out how easily he had been tricked. They would _never _forget that; they would laugh at the story over their energon years later. If his life had been in danger he would have commed them, but he was still safe.

_Just stuck. But not for much longer._

He reversed, then snarled under his breath as a huge rear tire sank into a hole in the ground. All six tires spun, clawing him forward again. The base of the ravine was the most irregular surface he had ever seen, covered with boulders and shallow pits in the ground, but he had no choice if he wanted to get out; he had to drive over it somehow and keep going until--

Sheet lightning flickered, bleaching the clouds. It was so bright that Drag Strip almost missed the shape that cut through the sky; if the jet had not flown so close to the ground, it might have gone unnoticed. But the Phantom nearly skimmed the rocks as it zoomed low. Even the gloom of the overcast day couldn't entirely dull the red paintjob.

_Fireflight! _

Drag Strip hit the accelerator, optical sensors still directed straight up. There was something worse than his teammates finding out what had happened to him – and that was an Aerialbot witnessing it.

Since he was staring up while driving, he slammed straight into a boulder, forcefield shimmering as it took the brunt of the impact. And the sudden movement from below drew Fireflight's attention. He shot overhead, then slewed abruptly as if trying to wheel around.

The maneuver might have worked if he hadn't been flying so low. The tip of one wing clipped the side of a nearby cliff so hard that Drag Strip saw sparks fly from the impact, and suddenly Fireflight was spinning out of control, spiraling down. For a moment Drag Strip hoped fervently that he was going to crash and explode, but Fireflight seemed to recover at the last moment, his flight easing off. He disappeared behind a ridge of rock that jutted up high enough to cut Drag Strip's view off.

Drag Strip dialed up his audial sensors for the sound of a jet plane being splattered over the landscape. _No, no such luck. What do I do now?_

He checked his weapons, which were thankfully online. _Maybe I can shoot him. _The thought of the Aerialbots laughing over his humiliation – and sending Fireflight out to grab a trophy from the downed 'con – was too much to be borne.

A comm registered on his radio, and he recognized an Autobot frequency. Ignoring it, he began to maneuver as best he could so that his forward-mounted guns would be able to shoot at the position where he had last seen Fireflight. His wheels bumped and jolted over the rocky ground and the narrow walls of the ravine scraped his chassis as he turned, but he was ready now, braced to deal with at least one of his enemies.

His radio pinged again. Drag Strip hesitated, unsure of whether to keep ignoring it. _Maybe Fireflight will think I'm injured and offline and defenseless if I don't answer. No, that wouldn't work. _Fireflight had seen him driving – or trying to do so on that terrain – so if he didn't answer the comm, Fireflight might become suspicious. Snarling under his breath, he opened his side of the link.

"Drag Strip?" Fireflight said, sounding poleaxed. _Must've landed on his head,_ Drag Strip thought. "Is that you?"

"No, it's Megatron in his Formula One racer alt-mode. What, you didn't know he was a triplechanger?"

"Okay, it _is_ you." There was a hint of relief in Fireflight's voice. "Guess you're not too badly hurt. Silverbolt said one of the cast was lost out here and asked me to help with the search."

Drag Strip would have clapped sarcastically if he had been in root mode – _brilliant, Silverbolt, send out someone who promptly turns himself into a casualty too!_ "Why the frag did he ask you?"

"Because my specialty is reconnaisance."

"Really? Mine is charity work with squishies."

"It's true!"

"Right. What kind of recon specialist flies into a mountain?"

"What kind of Stunticon ends up in the bottom of a canyon?"

_One who's going to blow your slagging head off for that._ "It wasn't my fault! Stephanie and…"

He paused. _Wait a minute, Silverbolt organized a search?_ That didn't make sense if they had wanted to kill him.

"What about Stephanie?" Fireflight said.

_So obviously they didn't._ Suddenly it all fell into place, down to sending Fireflight out looking for him. _Stephanie thought that'd make him my new best friend._ At least Drag Strip hoped that was what she had thought. The other possibility – that she had been trying to make him and Fireflight into _more_ than friends – was too disgusting to think about.

"What did Stephanie do?" Fireflight said again.

_Is he in on it too?_ Drag Strip wondered. _Probably not. This whole farce was meant to manipulate us into palling up, becoming buddies. Well, let's see what I can do with it._ He would have grinned if he had been in root mode. _When it comes to lies and tricks, who better than a 'con to play the game?_

"Your radio's working," he said. "Have you contacted the rest of your team to let them know you found me?"

"I tried, but they're not responding. I hope they're okay."

_Of course._ It was all so deliberate and obvious. Cut off from outside help, he and Fireflight were now supposed to start trusting and relying on each other. _All right, let's see how much I can get out of the moron before I kill him. Though maybe if he's obedient enough I'll just ditch him once I'm done._

"They're okay," he said, trying to keep the usual dismissiveness out of his tone. "It's probably just this storm interfering with communications."

"It's interfering with something all right, Scavenger said." Fireflight sounded distracted. "A geo-something storm."

Drag Strip ignored that as he tried to think of what an Autobot would do in his place. _Express concern? Yes. _"I'm concerned," he said. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Oh, not much," Fireflight said. _Slag._ "My wing's busted and I can't fly… and I hurt my foot when I landed. But other than that I'm okay."

_Good injuries!_ Drag Strip perked up. "I've got a mode lock on me," he said. "If you could get over here and take it off, I'll help you get out."

"Mode lock? How'd that happen?" But there were scrabbling sounds and clicks in the background and he could tell that Fireflight was climbing, hopefully heading in his direction.

He deliberated whether or not to tell the truth. _Must be easy to be an Autobot – you just blurt out what actually happened without stopping to think whether that's the best answer or not._ Right now he didn't think Fireflight would believe him – like all 'bots, Fireflight practically overloaded at the sight of humans – but he wasn't sure what other answer to give.

"One of the crew did it," he said reluctantly. "While he was supposed to be cleaning out my undercarriage."

"Why?"

"Because they're humans, that's why!" Drag Strip snapped. Part of his mind told him that that was not how an Autobot should behave, he was going to scare Fireflight off, but he was too angry to care. "They don't have the bearings to take a single Stunticon on face to face, so they stab me in the back. They're vile, cowardly little--"

The radio cut off abruptly. For a moment Drag Strip thought he had gone too far, before he saw pale fingers close around a ridge of rock in the distance. Slowly, Fireflight pulled himself up and began to clamber down the hill towards the base of the ravine. Drag Strip watched him, noting that he favored his right leg when searching for footholds.

Thunder crashed overhead and the first rain began to fall as Fireflight painstakingly reached the bottom of the ravine. Then he began to stumble closer, moving with laborious slowness.

_Hurry the frag up,_ Drag Strip thought, relieved that his emotions didn't show in alt-mode. Fireflight was evidently injured – one wingtip was bent at an angle, metal crimped and raked from the brush against rock – but the Stunticons had all learned to jump at orders whether they were wounded or not.

Fireflight picked his way over the uneven ground and fallen rock, slipping once on stones grown wet from the rain. Drag Strip was beginning to regret having an open passenger compartment, even though his console had been redesigned to compensate for that; a little rain trickling down his screens and controls wouldn't hurt him. Still, he didn't enjoy the feeling. He muttered under his breath, but to his surprise Fireflight started to speak as he approached.

"Y'know," he said, "seems to me 'cons don't have a lot of ground to stand on when complaining about being stabbed in the back. I mean, after what Starscream did to us--"

Drag Strip snickered. "Oh yeah, I heard about that." He realized that Fireflight was glaring at him. "Hey, no biggie. We all get revved up over Seekers."

That didn't seem to have the desired effect. Fireflight folded his arms and his optics looked like chips of blue glass. "We trusted them and they led us into a trap. How do I know you won't do the same thing to me now?"

Drag Strip would gladly have run him over under any other circumstances. Even then, he thought of firing; his guns would take care of Fireflight's other leg and he would enjoy ramming into the Aerialbot's face again and again. Except… he wasn't sure how he would get out of there with the mode-lock engaged, and he didn't particularly want to sit in the bottom of the ravine, dripping with rain, until his thrusters came online again. Or, for that matter, until the other Aerialbots came looking for the Ark's version of the village idiot.

"I wouldn't," he said. "I need your help, and I wouldn't let anyone down if they'd helped me." _Use his designation… and say something convincing, for frag's sake._ "You have my word, Fireflight. We're in this together."

_Primus, how cliched can you get?_ he thought. But it looked as though he had succeeded. The dubious expression slowly left Fireflight's face and he nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks." Drag Strip stifled an urge to laugh. "Now, where's the mode lock?"

All the amusement was suddenly gone. Drag Strip hated the idea of being upside-down before an Aerialbot, but he supposed he didn't have much of a choice. And he couldn't stand having to look up at Fireflight either.

"It's attached to my undercarriage," he said, switching his forcefield off. "You'll have to turn me over."

Fireflight went to one knee, caught hold of a fender and turned him over. Even though it was done carefully, Drag Strip felt every circuit heat up with embarrassment; being in such a position before an Aerialbot was something he would never forget. He would have to make sure Stephanie knew how very displeased he was. Maybe he would make her take a mouthful of gasoline and then shove a flame past her teeth.

"Uh…" Fireflight said. All Drag Strip could see from his position were a lot of rocks and the Aerialbot's knee, so he stared at the rocks. "Where's the… oh, is this it?"

"How can I tell?" Drag Strip said irritably. The collected water had run out of his passenger compartment, but there was now more rain pelting down over his exposed undercarriage. And Fireflight's touch made his plating crawl. "I guess I'll know the difference if you yank out my transmission. Just do _something_!"

Fireflight muttered something about him being just like Slingshot, but continued to fumble around while Drag Strip watched his diagnostic queue with one optical sensor, waiting for a damage report to pop up. The other optic, trained on what little of the landscape he could see, noted the level of rainwater flowing through the bottom of the ravine. Since he was upside-down, it came halfway up his chassis to his tires.

There was a click and a snap. The words _Mode Lock_ disappeared from his HUD.

Drag Strip gave the command to transform and nearly sagged in relief as his limbs unfolded and his chassis changed shape. Fireflight took a step back and tripped over a now-submerged rock but caught himself in time with a hand to the other side of the canyon wall. There was a tentative smile on his face.

_Moron,_ Drag Strip thought. He was smiling too, though for a completely different reason. _Memo to Optimus Prime: next time, take the Styrofoam packing peanuts out before you jam the processors into the cranial units. You must've forgotten to do that here._

Water sloshed over his feet and had risen above his ankles, but although the rain beat down fiercely it didn't seem to be rising any further. "Is that the mode lock?" he said, glancing at the small piece of machinery Fireflight was holding. "Give it here."

"You could say please," Fireflight said, but handed it over. "Why'd the humans put it on you?"

"Doesn't matter," Drag Strip said absently, checking his radar. _Odd_. That was flickering, lines subtly distorted, and yet it hadn't shown up on his HUD. Now he wasn't sure which was damaged – his radar or his self-diagnostics – and the Constructicons would gripe about having to repair him. He was going to _level_ the sets for that one.

"Yes, it does," Fireflight said. _Persistent little fragger._ "Did you do something to them?"

"Did I do something to them?" Drag Strip said, jolted out of his preoccupation. "For your information, they got a mode lock on me, and lured me out here so Sideswipe could make a sneak attack on me! You want to blame someone for this, blame them! Now leave me alone." He turned and looked up at the cliff before him. A hundred feet, but he could climb it and then it was just a simple drive back to the sets.

"Wait a minute," Fireflight said from behind him.

Drag Strip found a handhold and pulled himself up, fitting his feet carefully into crevices on the rock. Much as he loved speed, there was no point in rushing this and falling.

"Drag Strip! You… you said we were in this together…"

The cliff face was slippery with rain and more water beat down on him, rattling off his armor. Drag Strip risked a glance down and saw that he was almost twenty feet off the ground. _Keep going,_ he thought and continued climbing.

"You lied to me!" Fireflight shouted.

"I'm a Decepticon! Just what the frag did you expect?"

There was an inarticulate yell from below, and Fireflight leaped at him. His fingers closed around Drag Strip's ankle.

The forcefield was active again, and Fireflight's hand could not have touched Drag Strip's plating, much less hurt him. But the jolt to his ankle jarred his foot loose from its gap on the cliff, and sent his foot plunging down. Reflexively he dug his hands hard into the holds he had found – too hard. Weatherworn rock crumbled away under his fingers and he didn't even have time to gasp before he fell.

His forcefield was online, which helped, and he landed half on Fireflight, which helped too. The Aerialbot tried to scramble clear just as Drag Strip drew his gun. Before he could shoot, though, Fireflight hit him in the head.

Drag Strip was the lightest in weight of all the Stunticons, so a punch from a fighter jet, which weighed considerably more, might have jolted a circuit board loose. Fortunately his forcefield protected him – there was a _ssszzt_ of energy counteracting the blow – though he still ended up knocked flat on his back. His right elbow hit the ground with jarring force and for a moment his grip on the gun loosened.

Fireflight staggered up, holding the side of the cliff face for support, and drew his own weapon. Drag Strip grabbed a rock with his other hand and flung it as hard as he could, but Fireflight fired a split-second before the rock smashed into his arm.

A colorless ray that twisted everything in its path, like heat-waves rising in a shimmer from a fire, struck Drag Strip full in the face.

He didn't cry out or make a sound; he'd shown enough weakness before an Aerialbot already. Instead he tossed his gun to his good hand and fired. There was a scrabbling sound before him, a gasping cry, the clank of metal against rock and a strange, faraway rushing in his audials.

He didn't know whether he had hit Fireflight or not, because his vision was suddenly distorted. The ravine had turned into a vertical funnel through which water ran upwards, and Fireflight was now a bizarre red-and-white mosaic high over his head. The words _Photon displacement_ flashed across his HUD, but that was the only thing unaffected by Fireflight's shot. When he looked down, he could see his hands where his feet should have been, and he seemed to be standing on the sky.

The only good thing about a photon displacement gun, he thought bitterly, was that Fireflight could only shoot him once. After that, further shots would do nothing until the effects of the first one had worn off.

He tried to adjust the setting on his gravito-gun, only to realize that he couldn't see it, and the fingers of his right hand still tingled with the after-effects of his elbow striking the ground. So he just kept firing blindly ahead of him, hoping to hit Fireflight somehow. A rock, changing in shape as though it was a lump of clay worked with invisible fingers, plunged through the clouds below his hands. He offlined his optics – his CPU couldn't make sense of the data from them.

"Stop!" Fireflight's voice was breathless, and taut with pain. "Can't you hear that?"

"What?" Drag Strip snarled. He stopped firing for a moment, audial sensors dialed up. The odd rushing sound hadn't stopped – in fact, it was louder now – but he was waiting for something else, the metallic slide and whir of components if Fireflight transformed to bring his missiles to bear.

"Water…" Fireflight said, and suddenly the sound in the distance turned to the roar of a landslide, the crashing of rock muffled under tons of water. Drag Strip whirled around, optics coming back online automatically, and saw nothing. The sound in his audials had turned to a loud gush that echoed back and forth from the ravine's walls.

"Flash flood!" Fireflight yelled and began to scramble up the far wall. Drag Strip only had time to subspace his gun before the oncoming water hit him like a battering-ram. Even though he was in root mode it knocked him off his feet.

His intakes closed automatically, hands scrabbling for a purchase and finding none as the rush of water swept him along with it. He might have recovered even then if the flood hadn't smashed him against the wall of the ravine. Half-dazed now as well as blind, he thrashed weakly as he sank below the surface, flinging his arms out.

His fingers slipped against wet stone, but suddenly a hand closed around his wrist, gripping so tightly that it hurt. Drag Strip couldn't have cared less about the pain, though. The water was still climbing, over his neck, over his mouth, and he wondered what would happen when his oxygen supply was cut off. _Stasis lock, if I'm lucky?_

"I've got you!" he heard Fireflight shout over the roar of water and the clamor of internal alarms. "Climb up!"  
Nearly choking now, Drag Strip reached up with his free hand and caught at a crevice in the rock. Bracing himself, he scrabbled at the cliff wall with his feet and managed to push himself up. Fireflight hauled upward, servos whining as they took the excess weight, metal scraping against wet rock with a high-pitched sound that stung Drag Strip's audials, but he was climbing again, halfway out of the water now.

"There's a ledge…" Fireflight said breathlessly.

Drag Strip hooked an arm over the edge of the shelf of rock and pulled himself half over it, wrenching his wrist free of Fireflight's grip at once. Then he lifted his legs over, one by one, and lay flat on the ledge for a long moment, vents cycling, water pooling beneath him. His chassis stung with scrapes, and his spoiler ached from where the flood had flung him against the cliff.

Fireflight panted through his intakes nearby, but Drag Strip ignored that as he turned his head wearily away. His optics went back online, but to his surprise his vision was normal again. Perhaps his self-repair systems had fixed it. He felt a little better, though that didn't last for long when he glanced down to see what looked like a raging river just ten feet beneath him.

"You okay?" Fireflight said. He sounded tired too.

"Yeah, no thanks to you." Drag Strip got his elbows under him and pushed himself up. "If you hadn't shot me I'd be fine. I'd have gotten out of there by myself. Now I can't see slag and I'm stuck Primus knows where with you."

Fireflight's gaze dropped to his fingers, which were resting on the ledge. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know--"

Without warning his hand came up and a pebble flew through the air. Drag Strip couldn't stop his reflexive flinch aside, and the pebble struck the wall beside his helm.

"Wow," Fireflight said. "For someone who can't see slag, you dodge pretty well."

Drag Strip rolled over to get his knees beneath him and brought his gun out and up in the same smooth movement, pointing it straight at Fireflight. _Nothing like being embarassed to make you forget about any injury,_ he thought as he realized what he had done instinctively. Fireflight, not having time to draw his own weapon, raised his hands.

"The effects of my gun only last for five minutes or so," he said, "so I knew you could see."

Drag Strip's lip curled. "Typical useless Autobot weapon. Doesn't kill anyone, doesn't destroy anything and doesn't even have a permanent effect."

Subdermal cables tightened along the sides of Fireflight's jaws, but he was silent for a long moment. "Look, can I put my hands down?" he said finally. "My arms are getting tired. And I'm not going to start a fight – I'd have to be crazy to try that here."

Without lowering the gun, Drag Strip glanced at the water below them – and realized that it was higher than when he had last seen it. Of course, the rain hadn't stopped; the flood would keep rising. The road had disappeared beneath the swirling currents.

He looked around. The ledge was barely large enough for the two of them, but there was a rocky overhang that kept the worst of the rain off them. He could shoot Fireflight and climb up there, but if he slipped and fell there would be no one to help him. Whereas Fireflight, slag-soft like all Autobots, had shown he was willing to do that. He might do it again.

He put his gun away and Fireflight lowered his arms. Overhead, the sky turned white again and the thunder sounded like two boulders hurled at each other, meeting with audial-splitting force.

"We'd better go higher," Fireflight said.

"That's brave of you," Drag Strip said, pulling himself to his feet.

"Brave?"

"Yeah, aren't you the one who's scared of heights? Oh no, wait. That would be your mighty leader."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Fireflight's optics burn like balefire in the near-darkness – apparently the Aerialbot could bear insults to himself but wasn't so good at taking slurs to Silverbolt. But Fireflight only said, almost under his breath, "Once we're safe and on level ground I'll be happy to beat the slag out of you for that. For now, let's just get out of here."

The rain had grown heavier. Once he stumbled out from under the overhang and climbed up on top of it, Drag Strip could barely see ahead of him – he felt as if he was staring through a curtain of flickering water. And his radar wasn't working at all now. He crouched and extended a hand back to help Fireflight up on to the shelf of rock, thinking that at least the Aerialbot would have functional radar; he had no idea which way led back to the sets now.

_The sets_. Since they were built on much lower ground, perhaps they had been washed away by the flood. _Good. Serves the humans right._ He couldn't help regretting that all the footage of him would have been ruined too, though.

The overhang turned into a much narrower ledge and they shuffled along it for more than a dozen yards, arms spread for balance, before Drag Strip's radio pinged. "Are we going the right way?" Fireflight said.

Drag Strip would never have admitted that he had no idea. Chestplate and engine block pressed against the side of the cliff face, he looked around surreptitiously but could see nothing. And the ledge was hardly more than a footpath that might well taper off and disappear soon.

"Isn't your radar working?" he replied.

"No. I don't know what's wrong with it."

Drag Strip felt the fluid in his fuel lines turn to sludge colder than the rain. Although this was a setup, the Aerialbots would never have deliberately disabled one of their own, and it was too much of a coincidence that Fireflight's radar was out as well. He was beginning to be afraid, not that he would ever have showed that before a 'bot.

Lightning flickered overhead, but to his relief it lit up the slope and showed the dark shape of what looked like a cave near the summit of the mountain. It was at least sixty feet above their heads, though, unlikely to be submerged. Unless the flood was caused by one of Megatron's doomsday weapons intended to destroy the world, in which case Drag Strip supposed his waterlogged remains would be laid to rest in the Decepticon Crypt with a small plaque saying "collateral damage". He wondered if the other Stunticons would miss him.

_No. Do _not _go all Dead End, not now._ When the next flash came, he used the split-second of light to find the closest handholds on the cliff-face and pulled himself up laboriously. Fireflight followed in his wake – even though Drag Strip would have preferred sending the Aerialbot up first to test every crevice in the rock, he didn't want Fireflight losing his balance and toppling down on him.

Finally he pulled himself up to the mouth of the cave, scrambled in and listened to Fireflight clambering up. He waited for Fireflight to ask for help, so he could refuse, but that didn't happen; fingers clawed at the edge of the rock and Fireflight got an elbow over with an effort that left scrapes of paint against the stones. His vents heaved air. Slowly he lifted one leg and then another, then rolled over into the mouth of the cave, away from the storm.

_I could kick him down._ Drag Strip thought of the distance between them and the ground – _two hundred feet? Three?_ – and the swirling depths of water rushing through narrow ravines at speed. In the next flash of lightning he saw the dents on Fireflight's armor, the crumpled wing. _Even with self-repairs working, he wouldn't be able to fix that wing by himself, so if I were to kick him down--_

"Did you call for help from your team?" Fireflight said abruptly.

"That's none of your slagging business," Drag Strip snapped before he could think twice.

Fireflight rolled over, pulled himself up and sat with his back to the cliff wall, glancing down at the water. "Did you see that?" he said after a moment, his voice distant and quiet. Drag Strip didn't bother replying. "It was a floating tree with a cat clinging to the branches. I hope the cat's going to be all right."

Wildrider sometimes went off into useless conversational tangents, but he was a certifiable lunatic. Drag Strip didn't think Fireflight had any such excuse for his inanity. "Why isn't your radar working?"

Fireflight turned to look at him. "Radar? Oh. I'm not sure."

"You said something earlier about the storm interfering with communications…" With a heavy sinking feeling in his internal components, Drag Strip tried to remember what exactly the Aerialbot had said. "A geo-something storm…"

"Geomagnetic." Fireflight's optics lit up again, but this time with evident pleasure at recalling correctly.

Drag Strip could gladly have hit him. "What the frag are you so happy about? Geomagnetic storms are bad news. They throw everything offline." _No wonder the Seekers decided not to go stormflying,_ he thought bitterly.

"How'd you know that?" Fireflight said, though he sounded more curious than annoyed at being corrected.

Part of Drag Strip told him to keep silent; the Aerialbot didn't deserve any answers from him. Another part, though, felt a superior kind of pleasure in knowing something Fireflight didn't, in being able to explain something to him.

"Heard Thundercracker and Skywarp talking about that kind of weather once," he said. The Seekers, with millions of years of flying experience, were far more aware of all the nuances of weather conditions than the Aerialbots, who were younger than even the Stunticons. He could only hope the storm wouldn't last too long.

He couldn't be certain whether he saw a tiny flash of admiration in Fireflight's optics before he looked away again. "So that's why you haven't called for help," he said. "You don't want your teammates flying out from your base in conditions like these."

_Primus, is he really that naïve?_ "No, it's because I can get myself out of this without anyone's help. Least of all yours."

"But…" If Fireflight had been planning to bring up the very recent past, one look at Drag Strip's face seemed to convince him not to do so. "What's so bad about us working together? Even Prime and Megatron did that once--"

"I don't care. That treacherous little flesh creature wants us to make friendly, so I'm not going to do it. And you're an Aerialbot. I wouldn't pal up with an Aerialbot if Motormaster ordered me to."

Fireflight's mouth tightened. "Too bad. You and Slingshot are so much alike."

Drag Strip mulled that over. Was Slingshot the fastest Aerialbot or the most determined to win or just the best-looking one? _Never mind._ He settled back and stared up at the roof of the cave, wondering if he could get some recharge.

Fireflight sighed. "Look, I'm not asking you to… to make friendly, whatever that means for Decepticons. I just thought we could work together to get out of here."

"Why should we?" Drag Strip said. "My thrusters will be online in less than half an hour, and once the rain stops I'll fly out of here. As for you… well, I can't believe I have to explain this, but just activate your emergency beacon and your flyboy friends will arrive to save you."

Fireflight fidgeted, but said nothing.

"What?" Drag Strip had no curiosity regarding any Aerialbot, but he sensed a vulnerability. And he wouldn't have been much of a Decepticon if he had left that vulnerability untouched.

"I crashed, remember?" Fireflight looked down at his hands. "I haven't done that in a while, but I did it now. And if my team finds me, I won't even have anything to show for it, because you'll be gone."

"My core's breaking for you. What are they gonna do, beat you up?"

Fireflight's head came up at that. "'Course not. But if I fly twenty missions without crashing or getting lost, Silverbolt will give me a present."

Drag Strip felt a small bitter trickle deep in his fuel tank, as though he had swallowed a caustic. Fireflight could barely fly straight and he crashed headlong into mountains when he spotted something interesting on the ground. Yet he was promised presents?

"Last time it was only ten," Fireflight said, "but he says that since I'm getting more experienced--"

Drag Strip decided to change the subject before he shoved Fireflight down the mountainside, and grabbed at the first topic that came to mind. "You said I reminded you of Slingshot. How?"

"Oh," Fireflight said. "Well, um… he's a pain in the afterburners too, but he'd never give up. Doesn't matter how bad the situation is, or even if he's outnumbered and outgunned. Just digs in his turbines and won't quit."

"Yeah, well, I'm faster on the ground. Better reflexes too."

"Unless you get sideswiped?" Fireflight grinned. "Relax, I'm teasing. I've seen you in battle often enough. You're kind of… together."

Drag Strip had never heard anything like that before. He knew very well that among the Stunticons, he was possibly the least "together". Unlike Motormaster, he doubted himself. Unlike Dead End, he was never calm. And unlike Wildrider, he found it difficult to enjoy life since he always had to think about winning.

"Sure," he said, trying to speak with casual surprise, as if Fireflight had said, _You're yellow_ or _You're a 'con_. "Of course I am."

Fireflight nodded. "I mean, you don't crash into things. And I'll bet that even if you did and another 'con made fun of you, you wouldn't care."

Drag Strip thought of all the times Motormaster had done much, much more than simply make fun of him. He couldn't keep count; it had gotten to the point where only physical discipline – or other things physical – really registered with him. Fireflight had clearly meant "together" as some combination of tough and cool, and at any other time Drag Strip would have enjoyed seeing an Aerialbot fawn over him like that. Now, though, he found himself wondering if his apparent togetherness was the result of being slagged so many times that he just didn't care.

_Change the subject_, he thought desperately, and looked at the cave mouth for inspiration. To his surprise, the rain looked as though it was stopping and he quickly pointed that out.

"Radar's still fragged, though," he muttered. All the scrapes and dents he had taken made themselves felt. The only thing he could be pleased about was the fact that, having crashed, Fireflight wouldn't be getting gifts from Silverbolt or anyone else.

"Hey, look," Fireflight said. "A tree's growing out of the cliff, just over there, and there's a nest in it. I hope the birds are all right."

Since Drag Strip was bored almost into recharge by anything organic, he tried to redirect the conversation to something a little more interesting. "What's Silverbolt going to do to you when he finds out you crashed?" he said, trying to keep any eagerness out of his voice.

"He worries until he's sure I'm all right," Fireflight said without looking back; he was leaning out of the cave in what Drag Strip assumed was an attempt to get a better look at the nest. "Then he sometimes gets a bit mad, but after I apologize he always calms down and we talk about what I could do better next time."

Drag Strip thought of planting a foot in the small of Fireflight's back and pushing with all his strength; it was an effort not to actually do so. "So I guess you'll go straight to him once we're out of here."

"Sure, if he's around. He was saying something to Trailbreaker this morning about putting a plan into action, so he might be busy."

_Oh, was he?_ Drag Strip thought, instantly suspicious and mentally filing that information away for future reference. He couldn't help wanting to find out more about Silverbolt, though – well, not specifically him so much as the way Silverbolt dealt with the members of his team. "Does he--"

Fireflight twisted around, optic ridges coming together. "Hey, is your internal compass working?"

Distracted for a moment, Drag Strip shook his head.

"Mine neither." Fireflight sat back against the side of the cave, still frowning, and began to fumble in a subspace pocket.

"It's the storm," Drag Strip said, pleased again that he knew more. "Interferes with the Earth's magnetic field." The lack of navigation didn't particularly bother him. As soon as his thrusters came back online, he could fly, which would automatically give him an excellent view of his surroundings. He could make his way back to the sets through trial and error.

"Yeah, but I think I've got something which would help." Fireflight kept searching.

Drag Strip bit back a sneer. "Something else Silverbolt gave you?"

"Uh-huh." Fireflight produced whatever he was looking for, and the satisfaction of finding it was evidently enough that he didn't notice the tone of Drag Strip's voice. "After I finally did ten missions without crashing into anything. But I was trying so hard to make it that I guess I slacked off afterwards. Slingshot says I got distracted with a vengeance. I ended up on top of the Skylon Tower and the tourists had a field day taking pictures." He smiled sheepishly, seemed to realize that no reply was forthcoming and fell silent.

Drag Strip was silent too, though mostly because he was seething. On the _Nemesis_, Silverbolt was always the subject of crude jokes – some about his Aerialbot harem, some about his fear of heights. Even Motormaster, who never participated in the Stunticons' social interactions unless it was to assert some kind of control over them, had once talked about the possibility of dragging Silverbolt far up into the sky until he pleaded for mercy.

Unfortunately Silverbolt was almost never alone; the other Aerialbots stuck to him as if magnetized. _And that's how he does it. Bribes them with presents, because… because he's too weak to keep them in line any other way. Yes, that's it. How pathetic._

_And dumb. Give presents to one of your team and you'll end up alienating the others. _Of course, it was possible that Silverbolt gave _all_ the Aerialbots gifts, celebrating their accomplishments – _no, I'm _not _going there!_

"What the frag is that?" he snapped, looking at the object Fireflight had just taken out.

Fireflight twitched in surprise. "A gyrocompass."

"Don't you have an internal heading indicator?"

"You know a lot about jets." Fireflight sounded cautiously hopeful, as if he still hoped to forge some common ground and a compliment would be the best way to do it. So Drag Strip made himself grin.

"Yeah," he said. "Makes it easier to fight them."

That put Fireflight back in his place; he subsided, the brief flicker of warmth extinguished from his face, then cleared his throat and seemed to be addressing the gyrocompass. "The sets are towards the east, so I could use this to find my way back. Do… do you want to come with me?"

_Why don't you leave me alone?_ Drag Strip wanted to say. He knew what the answer would be, though. Silverbolt had probably asked Fireflight to try to get along with his co-star, maybe promising him a hangarful of energon for his efforts. _I don't have to go with him, though. _

_I shouldn't. Being with him… just isn't safe. Not that he's going to attack me again. But there's… another danger I'm not as used to. _He wasn't going to articulate it any more clearly than that; if he didn't put it into words, even in the privacy of his own mind, it didn't exist.

In a way, he hated Fireflight more now than he had done before. Hearing him prattle about Silverbolt as almost a friend rather than a commander was galling. Seeing him show off the gift his leader had given him was worse. And yet an odd compulsion drew Drag Strip along. It was, he thought, like picking at a fresh weld covering a wound: you knew it wasn't good for you but you couldn't seem to stop doing it.

"All right," he heard himself say. Fireflight got up at once to lead the way out, explaining how the gyrocompass worked – because it didn't rely on the Earth's magnetic field – as he picked his way down the cliff, then pausing in his discourse to point out a white bird settling down on the tree growing out of the cliffside.

_He's happy,_ Drag Strip thought. _No, he's just stupid and oblivious. He doesn't have any idea of what life is really like, or what it means to be part of an army. Silverbolt's made that into some kind of party, complete with favors. And even if I bashed his empty head in, it wouldn't make any difference._

_Then don't take it out on his_ head, a small voice whispered from the back of Drag Strip's mind.

"That way," Fireflight said, pointing.

The rain had stopped falling but the sky was still a blanket of shifting grey and the air was thick with the smell of mud and ozone. Drag Strip looked around but couldn't make out any recognizable landmarks in the hills and valleys around them; water and debris covered everything.

So he followed Fireflight in silence, though he soon took the lead; with his lighter weight and faster reflexes, he was better able to test the uneven ground, to leap back when boulders dislodged under his feet. Fireflight called out the directions from time to time, but soon realized that he wasn't getting much of a response. Then he suggested that they rehearse a scene or two while they trudged along. Drag Strip glared at him in a way that made him drop his gaze and rub at a scuff on the side of the gyrocompass.

After a few minutes of that, a new status report popped up in Drag Strip's diagnostic queue: his thrusters were back online. He said nothing. He could have taken off, left Fireflight behind, tried to forget about the envy and resentment and sick fascination that flowed deeper than the floodwater… _no, I couldn't,_ he thought. _I have to do something about it. Anything._

He kept moving, alternating walking with climbing, and didn't look at his internal chronometer or listen to anything until he heard Fireflight say, "Look!" Then he raised his head and stared into the distance.

He hardly even recognized the sets at first even though he was on a high ridge of rock that let him see for miles around. The Constructicons had dug some kind of makeshift moat around them to drain the water away, and had built light tentlike coverings over the sets as well.

"Wow, they do pretty good work," Fireflight said. He was on a slightly lower ledge that dropped away to a flat table of stone forty feet below them, still glistening wetly from the rain. Craning his head for a better look, he tried to step up to the ridge on which Drag Strip stood, and a stone turned beneath his injured foot.

With a gasp, he staggered and dropped to his knees, grasping at the ledge for support. The gyrocompass rolled away from his loosened grip, skittering several feet away along the ledge and fetching up in a shallow depression.

Drag Strip leaped down from the ridge, landing easily near the gyrocompass. He had a weird feeling that whatever was going to happen next was out of his hands; it was going to take place no matter whether anyone liked it or not.

"Ow." Fireflight sat up and lifted his foot across his knee, carefully manipulating the servos. _He's crashed so many times he's used to it_, Drag Strip thought in a detached way. "Could you hand me that?" he said with a glance at the gyrocompass.

Drag Strip took a step closer to it. A crumb of rock fell away from the ledge, gritting softly as it tumbled to the flatter ground below, but he grabbed the gyrocompass and shifted his weight at once, moving to safety. He studied the calibrated disc on the top, then the digital readout. The device was heavier than he had expected, solidly built. Then he turned it over.

The first thing he saw was Fireflight's name neatly engraved across the base, and that was in large enough letters that he almost missed the tiny ones beneath it. He activated the zoom function on his visor and read further.

"_No leader ever had a better team – Silverbolt._"

As if he was watching from a short distance away, Drag Strip saw his arm extend, stretching out over the ledge. Fireflight caught the movement and stared at him.

"What are you--"

Drag Strip's fingers opened. The gyrocompass fell, hit the smooth stretch of rock forty feet below them, and shattered.

For a long, long moment there was no sound except the slightest echoes of the crash fading away into nothing. Drag Strip heard the quiet burr of his own engine and the _whsh_ of cooling fans. Then there was a soft scrape of metal against rock as Fireflight turned to look down.

Slowly, as if with numbed hands and feet, Fireflight began to climb down to the shelf where the gyrocompass was scattered over a twenty-foot radius. He didn't say a word, nor did he look back at Drag Strip. Once he had reached the bottom, he began to pick up the broken pieces.

Drag Strip watched him, feeling suddenly at a loss. He knew he had to press his advantage at that point, say something to underline his victory. Make fun of Fireflight for taking a stupid toy so seriously, or at least laugh about it. The sounds wouldn't leave his vocalizer, though. He had never felt so… strange… as when he looked down at Fireflight, who was on his hands and knees gathering up the pieces of his gyrocompass. And once he had looked, he couldn't tear his optics away from the sight.

_So what if the dumb thing broke? You can get another. Frag, Silverbolt will probably give you ten more if you drink all your energon without spilling._ He tried to say all that, and failed. His limbs seemed to be as locked up as his vocalizer, since he couldn't move away from the spot either.

Fireflight continued to pick up the fragments.

_It was just a compass!_ Drag Strip thought furiously. _It wasn't your optics, was it? Your tires didn't get wrenched off, did they? I didn't twist your spoiler nearly in half, did I?_

Fireflight dragged himself to his feet, the handful of pieces disappearing into a subspace pocket. He looked around as if searching for more debris that he had missed, but there was none. As if caught on a hook and dragged upwards, his gaze rose.

Drag Strip hadn't known what he expected to see in Fireflight's face – anger and resentment at best. He could deal with those, and was largely indifferent to them. He could also have coped with hurt, though what he was really afraid of seeing was an understanding of what was going through _his_ processors at the moment.

But Fireflight only looked closed-off and oddly resigned. Drag Strip had always thought of the Aerialbot as being younger than he was – and the foolish naivety had contributed to that – but there was nothing childish in Fireflight's gaze now.

"You don't want me around," he said quietly. "Me or my team. I didn't know you hated us so much, even when we were doing our best to work with you. But I know it now, so we'll leave."

He climbed back up on to higher ground and over the ridge, limping only a little. Not moving, Drag Strip stood and watched as the small red shape made its slow, slow descent down the other side of the hill and towards the sets. The clouds drew back as he reached them, and sunlight struck flashes of red as another Aerialbot hurried out to meet him.

Whatever had stiffened Drag Strip's limbs in place loosened slowly, as if melted away by the warmth of the sun on his chassis. Taking his time, he followed the slight trail that Fireflight had left, heading towards the sets as well. He felt empty inside, as if some internal component had been yanked out and broken as well, but it didn't matter.

At least he was still alive, which was more than would be said for Stephanie once he found her.

_The story continues in Chapter 13…_

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**Fire From Above :** The Constructicons play trumpets (as seen in the movie), so I figure Wildrider plays the clarinet. And yes, he just switched the labels to mess with everyone, but the silly trick got them out of their punishment.

**Tugera :** Well, they do say that genius is close to insanity. Wildrider has so much of the one that he should have an odd flash of the other as well.

They're all my favorites, in different ways. :)

**Peacewish : **I wanted Dead End to have the TF version of a wine-tasting session, complete with highbrow commentary. Glad you enjoyed it!

**tomorrow4eva :** I looked up your profile and just realized you're from Australia. But Wildrider wouldn't mind sharing the continent with humans as long as he could play with the kangaroos (who would become an endangered species in no time). Though driving off into the desert and getting stranded for lack of fuel is something that could conceivably happen to him. Still, he would probably come up with some way out that was just crazy enough to work.

Even Motormaster can't be pissed off at the other Stunticons 24/7, hence his laughing at the end. He's pleased, in his own way, when they succeed at an assignment or get some privilege for the team… he just finds it near-impossible to show that.

I don't think I watched cartoons when I was five, because I lived in Sri Lanka at the time. I didn't actually know about Transformers until February of this year. Maybe why the fanfics appealed to me more than the cartoons did, although they're fun to watch.

**Taipan Kiryu :** Good to know I gave you something to relax with after your hard days. :) Yes, Motormaster knows how to motivate his team all right. I just finished another fic for this meme, set a couple of weeks after the Stunticons are created and where Drag Strip considers leaving what he sees as a gang of losers. Motormaster changes his attitude on that.

Breakdown used malapropisms in "Cosmic Rust" ("This is a mutiny – no, no, this is a hijack – I mean, we're taking over this ship!") but you're right; Dead End only corrected him once in canon. It was such a cute moment, though, that fanon took it up and ran with it.

Let alone Wildrider, _I_ didn't understand most of what Dead End said. I had to look up an article on wine tasting to write that part of the story. Wildrider's dialogue was sheer fun, though – it always is. Pair him up with another character who acts as the straight person to his lunacy (either Dead End or Geri, so far) and the story pretty much tells itself.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone!


	12. Obedient

_No chapter summary this time, just an explanation and a warning._

_An anonymous writer once posted a fic which took place after the Autobots lost the war and were enslaved by the Decepticons. Kookaburra wrote several stories based on this premise, and one of them contained a line about what would happen to humans in that scenario. This fic was inspired by that line and is set in that 'verse. This fic is also set in an AU of my own, where the events of "The Girl Who Loved Wildrider" never happened._

_**I won't give specifics, but this is a dark fic. Don't read it in the hopes of a happy ending. You have been warned. **_

_Also, the chapter for **Dominant** is complete, but since that turned out to be NC-17, it's posted on my LiveJournal. You can read it through the link in my profile. Enjoy!  
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**12. Obedient : Camp 521**

"There's a change of administration," Geri's father told her as they waited for their bread ration. He had never raised his voice before the war, but now the quietness of his tone seemed due to exhaustion and despair rather than to simple good manners. "First thing tomorrow morning, new 'cons will be running the place."

"What difference does that make?" a voice said.

Geri knew who it was – although the barracks held forty-seven people and eighteen children, she was nearly always able to distinguish voices. The man who spoke was called Elias Wade, and he had been a police officer before the war.

Since Geri was sitting as close to her father as possible, she felt him shrug. "Different 'cons might have different policies. Might give us more--"

"Don't fool yourself, Lombardi. I heard of this lot before the End."

Geri could almost hear the capital letter when people spoke like that, and she was starting to hate it. _We lost a war, but we didn't lose everything, _she thought._ We have to stay strong and keep trying, keep hoping. It's not the End._

"What did you hear?" her father said.

His pallet creaked, the thin mattress depressing, and Geri knew that Wade had seated himself. "Want to go talk to the other kids, Geri? Or see about--"

"No, she'll stay." Her father put a hand over hers and patted it gently. "What have you heard?"

Wade leaned closer. Geri could smell unwashed clothes and skin and a vague bleachy scent that meant the Decepticons had had him working in the chemical plant attached to the holding camp. "They're called the Stunticons, this lot, and they're to regular 'cons what a SWAT team was to, well, me. They were… _his_ elite troops or personal hit squad or something."

_His._ Geri knew that meant Megatron – no one in the barracks spoke the Decepticon leader's name.

"But if they're his special forces," she said, "what are they doing overseeing us?"

"Maybe they're being punished?" her father said.

"Then they'll be even viler than usual and they'll take it out on us." There was a long brooding moment before Wade continued. "I'm telling you, Lombardi, if we were on patrol and we saw these 'cons, we backed off and called the Autobots." His voice was a raspy whisper on the last word. "Anyone who did engage them got hazard pay. I knew one guy who was helping set up a roadblock for them. He said he was expecting sports cars, but a semi truck came out of nowhere and hit the roadblock. He was lucky. He only lost a leg."

Geri felt confused. "So are they cars or a truck?"

"Both. One of 'em – the leader – changes into a truck, and he's a goddamn monster, even for a 'con. We're not gonna have things go any better for us with the change in management, is what I'm getting at."

"What are the others like?" Geri said. "You said sports cars."

"Bunch of maniacs." The pallet creaked again as Elias got up. "Wait an' see – they'll do something like chasing prisoners over a field or just tearing through the morning lineup to see how many of us they can run over. Other 'cons leave us alone as long as we've done our work. This lot won't." He paused. "I once heard a 'bot say that _he_ made them to hate everything."

He moved away and left a silence behind, an emptiness that nevertheless felt stifling and heavy to Geri. She sat where she was, not moving, until her father put a slice of bread into her hand. She smelled the chunk of tuna fish he added to it.

She wasn't hungry; although she had her own duties, her work was nowhere near as grueling as that of the adults. She couldn't work in the factories or energon plants, so she stayed in the barracks, took care of the children and kept the place as clean as she could. She liked her responsibilities, but sometimes she wondered what would happen to them all and what there was in life to look forward to.

"You always liked tuna fish sandwiches," her father said, and she could tell from his voice that he was trying to smile. So she ate her dinner, trying not to think of everything she would once have taken for granted – mayonnaise and sliced tomatoes to add to the sandwich, Coke to wash it down with.

The Decepticons did not exactly starve anyone – weak prisoners did less work – but their idea of feeding humans was to toss in a couple of crates stolen from some warehouse. So there was no variety; for the past two days they had eaten nothing but pears and crackers. The bread and tuna fish came as a welcome change. _And at least we have clean water,_ she thought, though the water supply was cut off at lights-out and not turned on again until the next morning.

"Geri," her father said. "Anyone near by?"

Geri couldn't help smiling at that. Even though he could see perfectly well, it was a game they sometimes played. She slowed her breathing to absolute silence, listening carefully, then shook her head.

"Good. Listen to me, baby. I want you to get out of here tonight."

He put his hand over hers, squeezing just enough that her reply of _What?_ was silenced before she could speak. "Tonight the 'cons in charge of the place will be leaving. They don't share territory, so they'll have to be out before dawn, when the new lot move in."

"Dad." Geri pulled her hand free and spoke in a whisper. "We're going together, right?"

"I can't. If I don't show up for my shift tomorrow and they find out I've escaped, everyone else will be punished. And the way out that I have in mind… let's just say I'm not small enough to make it through."

"But… how am I going to manage without you?" Geri's heart sank. She tried her best to be strong and independent, not to be any extra burden on her father, but none of that changed the fact that she was blind. And the world outside the camp had been devastated by war. _Where will I go? What am I going to do out there?_

Her father was silent. "I've saved a little food," he said finally. "It'll last you for a day or two. But that'll be enough for you to get away from here and find other people."

"Other people in another camp?" Geri said.

She regretted her sarcastic reply at once, but her father didn't seem too bothered by it. "You should've studied history as well as science," he said gently. "Then you'd know that no matter how powerful or cruel the regime, there are always pockets of resistance. You'll find one of those and be safe."

_How far will I have to go to find one, and how do I know they'll be resistance fighters rather than, I don't know, people in the pay of 'cons who are hunting down resistance fighters?_ Geri didn't say any of that. She knew she would still be better off than everyone else in Camp 521.

"Now get some sleep," her father said. "I'll wake you up when it's time."

Geri climbed on to the pallet above his, thinking that she would lie awake through the night brooding about what would happen. Instead, she was tired enough that she fell asleep. She dreamed that she was walking through a dining room where a table was laden with food; the smells of roast chicken and mashed potatoes rose warm and steamy into the air. But when she reached out for the food, it turned to bones and ashes in her hands.

She woke when her father shook her arm lightly. All around, people slept fitfully, turning over and coughing from time to time. A baby cried, the sound dying down into soft hiccups.

Geri wasn't concerned that they might see her and report her father to the 'cons; there was no light in the barracks at night. What worried her was stepping outside. Searchlights swept the common grounds of Camp 521 at night, there were motion-detectors randomly placed here and there, and she'd heard that the barbed-wire fence was electrified.

But if her father had come up with some way for her to escape, she trusted him. She slipped a hand into his, and he led her to the right side of the single large room, to the crude latrines attached to the barracks.

Geri grimaced, but to her surprise, her father chuckled. "No one spends too much time in here, so they don't notice a few renovations made to the wall."

"Dad?" Geri managed to say while trying not to breathe.

She heard metal creaking against wood, weakened boards opening. "Yes?"

"What if…" Geri swallowed hard and ignored the stench. "What if you die and I never know about it?"

She felt a sudden draft of cool fresh air. "I'll be all right, baby," her father said, and put his arms around her. "And sometimes you remind me of your mom, so I know she's still with us, in a way. Same thing goes for me. As long as you're alive, I will be too."

_In a way,_ Geri thought, but she knew that was the best they could hope for. She hugged her father back, then let go reluctantly.

"Take this." Her father pushed a small bundle wrapped in crinkling plastic into her hand. "Now listen. This is how you're going to escape."

Geri pushed the bundle down the front of her shirt and listened.

"The grounds are monitored, so you won't be leaving that way. You'll be going out through the water main."

"The what?"

"The pipeline that brings water in. They turn it off at the base, at the treatment plant outside the grounds, so that we can't tap into the supply at night. But that means the pipes are empty until tomorrow morning – and the main one is wide enough for you to crawl through it. It runs under the fence. Once you're outside, you can unscrew a maintenance hatch from the inside of the pipe and climb out. The 'cons will be gone by then, and they won't see you."

Geri swallowed hard. "How will I know when I'm outside?"

"Once you've gone three hundred and twenty feet – maybe thirty, forty minutes. You've got your watch. You'll have to keep track with it. Understand?"

"Yes." Geri could hardly hear her own voice, but her father took her hand and she heard the loosened boards creak again as he told her to duck her head and led her outside.

She shivered as they walked a few feet away from the barracks – all they could go without being caught in the searchlights – and knelt on the bare ground. Her father dug loosened earth away in fast desperate strokes, then took her hands and drew them to a curved metal surface.

"Feel the rivets?" he said. "Good. That's a hatch. All you'll need is a screwdriver to open it." She heard the quiet clink and squeal of metal on metal, though it felt like a long time before the hatch creaked open. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she checked her Braille watch. 4:34 a.m.

"Here's the screwdriver," her father said. "Now climb in."

He helped her clamber down into the pipe. Geri shivered; it was smaller than she had expected, with just enough room for her to use her elbows and knees to pull herself along when she lay full-length. Her father made sure she was headed in the right direction – "or you'll crawl right into Camp 511."

"Just like the Count of Monte Cristo," she said, fighting to sound cheerful.

"Yes. Like that. But he got out of the prison, and you will too." Her father's voice sounded hoarse. "Start moving, Geri. I'm going to close this back up once you're out of sight. And… be careful, okay?"

"You too, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too."

Geri dug her elbows into the bottom of the pipe and dragged herself along. Before she had gone more than a few feet, the hatch closed behind her.

The pipe immediately shrank a few inches, or at least that was how it felt to her. It was faintly rusty on the inside, just enough to scrape at her clothes, and although the water supply had been turned off, there was still enough at the bottom of the pipe to soak through her clothes as she continued to crawl. Either that or the constant exertion made her tremble.

The pipe was narrow – the upper surface of it rubbed against her head – but it was thick. She couldn't hear any sounds from outside, only her own increasingly labored breathing. She kept moving, trying to fall into a steady rhythm of pulling with her arm muscles and pushing with her legs, but she was growing more and more tired, and each movement seemed to take her a little less far than the last.

She checked the time again. 4:48 a.m.

The world was no wider than a two-foot span, and there was nothing she had ever been doing except crawling through it. She drank a little of the water that had collected at the bottom of the pipe and struggled on. Her father had gone to so much trouble to get her out; she couldn't let him down.

Narrow though the water main felt, she could feel narrower gaps here and there and she knew those were other pipes leading off to the barracks and factories. A rivet, sticking out a little, poked the side of her arm; she hissed through clenched teeth and crawled on.

4:59 a.m.

There was a low, rushing sound in the distance.

Geri stopped moving and listened. Her heart was thudding hard, but she still heard the noise – it was growing louder, heading towards her.

_Water. Water in the pipes. They turned it back on._

She nearly panicked. There was no room in the pipe, no air space where she could keep her head above the water. She was going to drown.

_No, I felt a rivet._ That means there's another maintenance hatch. She wriggled backwards as best she could, twisting her arm around until it hurt, feeling for the rivet in the side of the pipe. The rushing sound turned into a roar.

Her fingers found the rivets just as she yanked the screwdriver from her pocket with her other hand, but she knew she would never be able to open the hatch in time. The water was only seconds away. She closed her fist around the screwdriver's handle and jabbed the point deeply between the hatch and the groove into which it fitted. The shriek of metal scraping against metal was lost in the thunder of water slamming towards her.

She had time to take a single deep breath before the thunder struck.

The surge of water was so strong that it nearly tore her free of her grip, so cold that she fought not to gasp. She clenched her teeth instead, felt a bubble of air escape them and bit down harder. Water streamed like a million cold tendrils through her hair, past her clothes and over her skin.

Her chest burned. Squirming, she managed to get the fingers of her free hand on the hatch, gripping tightly, but she didn't know how she would manage to unscrew the rivets with the water hammering at her. And she only had enough air for a few more moments. Drowning would hurt, but not as much as the thought of her father finding her body.

The cascade of water slowed to a gentle rush, then to a trickle. The pipe was suddenly filled with damp cool air again.

Geri took in a deep sobbing breath, then another. She knew she was hyperventilating, and that wasn't good, but she couldn't seem to stop gasping great lungfuls of the air. _Calm down,_ she thought angrily. _And get out, before they turn the flow back on!_

Her hands trembled, but the thought of being caught in the water again was enough to spur her on. She dislodged the screwdriver and then finished unscrewing the rivets, terrified that the water would surge towards her again. The hatch was heavy and moved only with difficulty. Geri put both hands to it and pushed hard.

Abruptly it popped up an inch, and a soft rain of earth fell down on her. She coughed and spat, then closed her eyes and kept shoving the hatch upward. More earth crumbled down, but that meant less of it on top of the hatch, and she was able to push it open completely.

She knew she was filthy now – the earth and water mixed to cover her in mud – but it didn't matter. Disoriented but too afraid to stay in the pipe any longer, she clambered out, getting one foot on the edge of the hatch and pushing until she was on solid ground again. She could only hope that she had cleared the electrified fence.

_Close this up, don't show them how you got out._

Geri leaned down and shut the hatch again, then started to scoop earth over it. Abruptly she stopped. In the distance, she could hear a faint rumble of engines, heading in her direction.

_Cars, _she thought._ They're here already!_

She got up and hurried left, not because she could see where she was going but because the pipe had been on the right side of the barracks, and everything in Camp 521 was built to the same structured pattern. If she was still inside, the pipe would still be to the right of whatever buildings were nearby.

The growl of engines grew louder, but her outstretched hands smacked into a wall. She felt her way along it until she reached a doorway; of course the door was locked, but she sank down, tucking her thin body between the solid surface of the door and its frame. The slight recess might conceal her – or it might not, if the Decepticons had spotted her. She could only wait to find out.

The engines roared louder than the water, and she heard the pound of rock music as well. She wondered how many of the prisoners they would have woken up, then wondered why that was even relevant if these particular 'cons, as she had heard, were likely to drive over people for fun.

There was a screech of brakes as the engines cut off, very close by, and a burst of laughter that sounded like a hyena's howl. For a moment that nearly stopped her heart, Geri thought the 'cons had spotted her.

"I win!" a deep gravelly voice said. Geri huddled in tighter on herself, wondering if they were taking bets on which of them first spotted a human trying to escape.

"Cause you cheated." The other voice had an unmistakable Texan accent.

There was a clank of metal on metal. "I did not!"

Clang. "Sure you didn't, sunshine. Your thrusters activated just to warm your aft a bit, right?" There was another crazy giggle. "Next time, don't try that at night. It's real easy to see."

Whatever they were talking about, it didn't seem to be her, and Geri heard a lock snap open. "C'mon," the Texan accent said over the heavy slide of a door being pulled open, "let's go have some energon."

_I must be near the administrative building. _Which meant she was still inside the camp, but somehow she didn't feel too disheartened. After the admin building had been built by forced labor, the Decepticons had never allowed humans near it. She wondered what was inside. Food supplies? Communications equipment?

Would it be clean and warm and dry?

"Fine." The first voice sounded sullen. "We'll race again and this time, no thrusters."

"You're such a slagger sometimes, y'know that?" the Texan accent said, though it didn't sound angry. "Okay, let's go!"

The door slid back and they roared off again, music blasting. Geri held her breath. _They didn't reset the lock._

She slipped out from the doorway, holding on to it with one hand. Water dripped down her soaked clothes, but she hardly noticed that. Her heart hammered at the idea of entering the building – the Decepticons didn't have too many rules for prisoners, but those in place were strictly enforced, and staying away from the admin building was one of them.

_Better than staying outside with the searchlights and motion detectors and two 'cons racing around._ She took a deep breath and hurried in the direction of the sliding door, trailing her fingers along the side of the building to keep herself oriented.

When her hand slipped into a gap, she realized that the Decepticon had been in too much of a hurry to fully close the door. The space would have been a narrow crack to 'cons, and even an adult human would have needed to push the door open wider. Geri turned sideways, thankful she hadn't had much to eat for months, and slipped in.

_Find somewhere to hide. Now._

Keeping her shoulders pressed to the back of the door, she moved right as fast she could, arms outstretched to feel her way. The door stopped and a wall began, but just ahead she heard quiet beeps and clicks and purrs. _Machinery?_ She strained to listen. She thought she could also hear someone muttering quietly, but the sound was too faint to hear, and she was growing more and more scared. _Where to hide? _

She'd also forgotten to count paces, so she didn't know how far she was from the door. But in the next moment her arm touched the hard angular side of some machine – a large computer or workstation – and there was a gap between it and the wall.

Geri ducked into the gap thankfully, feeling much better with the huge block of equipment between her and any 'cons in the room. She nearly tripped over a cable as thick as a python, but caught herself and felt her way along the wall. Her fingers moved over a hard mesh of some sort.

_The cover of an air duct! If I can get into that…_ She pulled the screwdriver from her pocket and began feeling over the vent cover for anything she could loosen. The vents had been constructed to Transformer standards, so their rivets were huge and she could tell that it would take all her strength to loosen them.

The workstation behind her pinged, and there was a loud creak. Geri heard quick heavy footsteps move to it, but the Decepticon only began to press some buttons on the equipment as another door slid open.

"Breakdown." The voice that spoke was a drawl, low and cultured, and sounded faintly British. Geri wondered if there had been 'cons stationed in so many different parts of the world. She continued working at the rivet.

"Just done with the routine check," the other Decepticon replied. "The power plants are in order, searchlight timers work, water supply's good. Once Wildrider and Drag Strip stop racing, I'll reactivate the motion defectors. They'd set everything off otherwise."

"Motion detectors," British accent said. She heard a clack. "And there's no need to bother. Take a look at this. New instructions."

There was a brief silence. "Thank Primus."

"Thank Megatron, if you feel some need to thank anyone. Though I'm not sure what for – one planet's very much like another."

One of the rivets finally popped free. Geri breathed a silent sigh, set the heavy weight of the rivet down as quietly as she could, and tiptoed to the other side of the vent to restart the process. The workstation hummed softly behind her, blowing a wash of warm air over her. She would have enjoyed it if she hadn't been sweating.

"Cybertron isn't overrun with squishies! And I heard we'll all be dividing up the spoilers of war."

"I suppose that might be something to look forward to. Though of course we'll get to Cybertron so late that there's unlikely to be anything left for us."

The second rivet loosened as well, and Geri's heart leapt. _Now to get in without making any sounds…_

"Motormaster's going over the details, and once it's all done we'll take the space bridge…" There was a pause. "What's that?"

"What?"

"Those smears of dirt on the floor."

_I left those,_ Geri thought in dread. She yanked the huge ventilation cover up with all her strength, and it clanged against the back of the workstation; the screwdriver fell from her hand and rolled away. There was a scraping rasp as the workstation was pulled away suddenly, but she was already scrambling into the ventilation duct. She heard the British accent observe with disinterest that she was a human.

"A human?" Something heavy fell over, clattering, and footsteps moved rapidly back. "What's one of them doing in here? How did it get in? Was it watching me?"

Geri was so tired she could barely lift her legs into the duct, and as she started doing that, the unsupported vent cover immediately fell back down. She heard the _whsh _as it dropped, but before it would have slammed into her legs, the sound stopped abruptly. She guessed one of the 'cons had caught it. Frantically she pulled both legs in, ignoring the pain as they scraped along the edge of the duct, and then stumbled to the right.

Metal clinked on metal. "Breakdown, stop that. I'll catch it and put it outside, all right? Now, which way did it go?" The clinks echoed off the hollow interior of the ventilation duct and she realized the 'con had put a hand in and was groping about to find her.

She'd lost the screwdriver, but her bundle of food was still inside her shirt, still wrapped up carefully. She yanked it out and threw it down the other side of the duct.

There was a soft thud as it struck the wall. The fingers immediately moved away from her, searching in the opposite direction. Geri hurried down the other side of the duct as fast as she could, one arm pressed against the side of the duct. It wasn't very spacious, but just knowing that no water would be pumped through it was a relief.

"Oh, drat." She heard the fingers scrape against metal again, followed by a silence that she guessed meant they had been withdrawn. There were more voices speaking outside, but by then she had moved on and couldn't hear what they were saying.

She had no idea where she was going. The air duct began to slant up, and she struggled to maneuver up the slope, wishing she could find to some safe place in which to rest. Her outstretched fingers registered another vent cover ahead, but her ears had already picked up a sound in the room below and she moved very softly as she edged past.

"Organic resource disposal is calculated to produce a minimum of seventy-two cubes," someone said. There was a flat, rote quality to the words, as though they were being read out, but it wasn't one of the voices she had heard earlier – it was deep and cold and there was a constant low grinding sound that accompanied it. She wondered how many of the 'cons there were, then wondered why it mattered.

She passed another vent, and spent some time feeling it carefully before she realized that the covers couldn't be unscrewed from the inside. For the first time she felt defeated. _What am I going to do now?_ She couldn't get out without help, yet she couldn't just keep wandering around – she was too tired, and now she was hungry as well. She was a mouse in a maze, and there was no way out.

_Dad wouldn't just give in,_ she thought. _And if I could live through the war, I can live through this as well._

So she pushed herself onward, though she stopped when she came to a three-way junction. The ventilation ducts led onward and to the left. She listened carefully, and heard a distant rustling sound from the left. There was a faint, unappealing smell from it as well.

It was the smell which decided her – if it had drifted down this far, perhaps there was an air current, which meant part of the ventilation system might be open to the outside. So she set off down the length of the leftmost duct, but as she drew closer, the rustling sound resolved itself into thousands of tiny movements, scurrying, rubbing, rasping… chittering.

The smell was stronger too, and more distinct – the stink of guano and warm hairy bodies. Geri clenched her hands and began to back away. Her blouse snagged on a sharp point that felt like a loose nail in the wall, and she pulled it free.

The cloth tore, but the sound was lost as the entire bat colony seemed to sense her presence. Hisses and high-pitched squeaks filled the air, and suddenly there was a soft leathery _whw-whw_ past her ear and she knew one of the bats had flown at her.

She turned and ran, all her tiredness forgotten, and didn't stop until she was back at the junction. To her relief, none of the bats had followed her there.

She could have cried in frustration; the bats were only there because that section of the ventilation system drew in air from outside. There would be a mesh, of course, but the bats were more than small enough to enter. She couldn't get past them to work on the mesh and escape, though.

Another thing she had learned from the adults in the barracks was that that particular strain of bats fed on blood – preying on small mammals, which was good, since they took care of rats and mice. But they'd done that too well, since their prey populations were now low, which meant they were hungry for anything else that was warm and which might bleed.

She sagged against the wall, dragging her hands down her arms, and shivered involuntarily. _Never mind, I'm sa--okay now_. The Decepticons were terrifying, but they were also so alien that she couldn't really understand them, much less imagine what they would do to her besides killing her. With the bats, she could visualize it only too well. She'd even had one tangle its claws in her hair once, months ago. _Ugh_, she thought and kept walking.

She stopped when she heard a scrape and clank ahead of her, which froze her in her tracks. A few yards ahead of her, another vent cover had been removed.

"Hey, human," a voice called out.

It was the one with the Texan accent. Geri stayed where she was, not moving.

"C'mon, I can see you," the voice said. "Look, get out here and we'll give you something to eat. How about that?"

_Sheesh. What kind of dummy does he think I am? _Geri took a step back. She had no idea what any of the Decepticons looked like, but since they could transform, it was always possible they could make their arms long and thin and flexible enough to plunge into the air ducts and grab her.

"There's no point in talking to it, Wildrider," another Decepticon said, loudly enough for her to hear. "Human brains aren't very large, so they're not capable of speech."

"Yes, we are!" Geri said, stung.

She only realized her mistake when the other Decepticon – Wildrider – laughed. "See, it _can_ talk," he said. "Now c'mon out, okay? Or else we'll have to, I dunno, block off the vents and flood the system with gas."

Geri's blood went cold. _Mr Wade was right about them hating everyone_. "Go ahead," she said, trying to stop her voice from shaking. "You're going to kill me anyway."

"Nope," Wildrider said. "I could let you go if you don't make any more trouble." Geri didn't reply. "Aw, c'mon! You've already upset Breakdown and we're all fragging lucky Motormaster hasn't found out about this."

"This is a waste of time," British accent said. "And no, we can't close up the vents and pump gas in. What if we can't retrieve the body afterwards? It'll smell unpleasant."

_Well, I'm really sorry that my corpse will stink up your office,_ Geri thought.

"We could send another human in to find it," Wildrider said.

"So we can repeat this farce? Look, human, we'll strike a deal with you. The vent system ends in the next room. If you make it that far, we'll let you go."

Geri knew at once that there was something deadly between her and that room, and she also knew that the Decepticons would never keep their word. But if she kept refusing, they might do something worse to her.

"All right," she said, "but I'm hungry. If you give me something to eat, I'll stand a better chance of making it."

"Sure," Wildrider said. She heard wooden boards being wrenched and cracked apart, and guessed he was opening a crate. "Here," he said, and something came rolling towards her.

She flinched back. "What is that?" For all she knew, it was a grenade. _No, that would definitely make the vents smell unpleasant when it exploded._

"Some kinda nut. It's big, so it'll last you a long time."

Geri knelt and felt along the floor. Her fingers touched something large and spherical, covered with rough fibres. For a moment she was unsure of what it was, then she held it up, felt the weight and heard something slosh inside.

"A coconut?" she said, controlling a burst of half-hysterical laughter. "You – you gave me a coconut?"

"Yeah. Don't you like 'em?"

"Oh, for Primus's sake," the other 'con said. "Give her some of the new shipment."

She didn't have to wait long before there were a couple of thumps as something else was tossed into the duct, hard enough to send vibrations along the walls. The vent cover slammed shut. A little more secure with that between her and the 'cons, Geri felt around, caught a container and pried up the lid.

The smell of potato salad made her mouth water, and the next container was filled with bread pudding studded with raisins – as she found when she bent a lid to form a makeshift scoop and ate a mouthful. It tasted delicious, and she guessed the 'cons had raided a supermarket for it. She ate hungrily, though she couldn't stop stuffing herself with the pudding before she finally started on the potato salad.

Once she was done, though, she remembered that she had to get to the end of the vent system without triggering any traps in the way. _Must be more motion detectors_, she thought. It could always be something in the floor that detected pressure, but that would make it too easy for her to crawl over the floor to spread her weight out over a larger area. Or she might even climb along the walls somehow.

She picked up the coconut Wildrider had thrown her, then paced past the closed vent. Standing straight, she drew her arm back. _Pretend you're bowling, _she thought and flung the coconut forward with all her strength.

It rolled for a few seconds and there was a soft _phut! s_ound.

Geri went to her knees and crawled forward until she felt wetness under her palms – the coconut water trickling over the floor. She sat back on her feet, dampened her entire hand and used it to draw a wide wet line across the floor. _Okay, the motion detectors and lasers are beyond this line. Now what?_

The other prisoners had constructed the building, but they had done so to Decepticon specifications, which meant no hidden ways past the trap. Geri tried to remember what she had heard about motion detectors. They didn't respond to moving liquid – which meant they weren't set off by rain – but anything solid was enough. Anything warm, and they ramped up the automatic reaction, which was to set off the lasers.

_Lasers._

All she knew about those was what she had heard from the other prisoners, again. They fired a certain number of rounds before they required recharging. Of course, since that could be anything between twenty and forty shots, each of which could kill her, that wasn't much help.

_I could throw a few more things into the way of the detectors,_ she thought. _But what have I got? A couple of containers and my clothes, that's it. Nowhere near enough. And nothing…_

…_nothing warm._

She got to her feet, her heart pounding. _This might not work, but what choice do I have?_ Steadily she began to retrace her steps to the three-way junction, and when she reached it she took the leftmost duct.

The bat colony stirred restlessly as she approached again. _If this was a book,_ she thought, _I'd somehow manage to befriend the bats and train them, and we'd work together against the Decepticons. But this isn't._

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she trailed her fingers along the side of the wall until she touched the nail that had snagged her blouse earlier. It felt gritty under her fingers, and she knew it was rusty.

_Well, tetanus is the least of my worries right now. This is going to hurt, so do it fast, like tearing off a sticking-plaster. _

She clenched her teeth and lashed her forearm against the sharp point of the nail.

The pain forced a groan past her teeth, and heat leaped up her arm. But in the next moment she heard the whir of wings as the bats smelled the blood dripping from her skin.

Taking a step back, Geri cupped her palm around the wound in her arm to catch as much of the blood as possible. Then she retreated another pace. The bats chittered, and raised a chorus of high starving cries as they flew at her.

She turned and ran.

Unable to use her hands, she had to rely on her memory of the number of paces to the junction, but once she reached it, she ran left. The bats were much faster than she was, and one of them swooped close. A rough warm body brushed against her cheek. There was a sharp stinging slice along the bare flesh of her arm and she knew another one was trying to get at her.

But her shoes slipped and she knew she was at the motion detectors, where the ground was still wet with coconut water. She fell, but as she did, she flung her arms out in a hard arc forward that sent splashes of blood into the kill zone. A few of the bats landed on her anyway, but she heard the rest of the flock fly past her, following the scent of blood.

The lasers spat at them again and again. Geri clamped her hand over the wound in her arm, tightly, and rolled over with her face pressed to her knees, hunching her shoulders to protect her throat. Before her, shrieks of pain reached a pitch that was no longer audible. She heard a thousand desperate flutters, bodies thumping on the floor, broken wings crackling like paper. The lasers shot at anything blundering terrified into their path, shot at hints of movement and shot at twitching corpses until finally, they fell silent.

The last few survivors of the colony screamed in tiny squeaks at each other, then took off again, flying back down the ducts. Geri raised her head slowly, smelling heat-roasted flesh and burned hair. _I'm not crying,_ she thought dully. _I'm okay. I'm fine._ Her arm throbbed with pain.

She managed to tear off a strip of her blouse and bandaged the wound as best she could. It all felt unreal. She couldn't have just lured hundreds of animals into a deadly trap. She liked animals; she'd had a hamster before the End_--no, not the End, before we lost the war. _

_I just have to get past this and I'll be out. Then I can forget about this and sleep. Maybe get a little more food, too. _She wondered if the 'cons would give any extra food to her section of the barracks if she asked them to.

She forced herself to stand. The exhaustion helped; even though she knew she was walking through the kill zone and one or two of the lasers might still have charges, she didn't really care. She drew in a breath and walked forward, her pace unhurried. Her shoes crushed soft broken bodies and scorched flesh.

_Just a little further,_ she thought. The floor beneath her feet turned smooth and clean again, but she still hadn't reached the end of the ventilation system. She'd forgotten how large things were on a Transformer scale; going from one room to another felt more like crossing a football field.

She kept her good arm raised before her, even though it felt heavier than lead. Before long, her fingers brushed the flat surface of a wall ahead of her. She turned, feeling the walls to either side – one blank and featureless, the other meshed. When she rapped lightly against it – kicking it felt too difficult – she heard the vent cover being removed.

_I got to the end,_ she thought. _This is the end of the maze._

She still flinched when warm metal fingers closed around her, but the grip didn't tighten. Instead, she was lifted out carefully and she felt herself being lowered for what felt like a short distance before she was placed on the ground. The Decepticon took his hand away and she heard other heavy footsteps move to surround her.

Geri swayed, then lost her balance abruptly and sprawled on the ground. The thought of lying in such a helpless, undignified position before Decepticons worked, a little. She managed to pull herself to a sitting position, then dragged herself slowly back until she felt the wall against her spine. Her head felt like a lump of rock, and she drew her knees up so she could rest her chin on them.

_Talk, don't just sit there!_ "Y-you said you'd let me go if I got this far," she managed to say. Her forearm throbbed, but the pain was oddly distant, as if she was remembering an old injury rather than feeling a new one.

"Yeah." She could tell from the accent that it was Wildrider. "See, the thing is…"

_I knew it. They won't let me go._ Geri tightened her grip on her knees – or tried to. Her whole body felt numb, and there was a faint tingling in her fingers and toes, as if they had gone to sleep.

"You wouldn't get very far," British accent said. "At least, not if the last shipment has been treated as it was supposed to be."

"What…" Geri's mouth felt dry, and her tongue thick. She could barely hear herself speak. "What are you talking about?"

"We're leaving for Cybertron tomorrow, so all of this camp's resources have to be either destroyed or converted to energon. That includes your kind. And we'd rather not waste time dealing with an uprising, so we sent for one last shipment of human fuel and requested that it be chemically treated beforehand."

_Human fuel,_ Geri thought. The realization came slowly as if it was being spelled out to her letter by letter. "The – the food you gave me earlier…" _It was drugged? It was…_

"Looks like it's working," the gravelly voice said. "Hey Wildrider, you wanna join us out front once you've taken care of it?"

…_poisoned?_

_How could you _do_ that?_ she thought, then knew at once how they could. People laid down poisoned bait to take care of vermin; Decepticons had just done the same thing. _But they're going to give it to _everyone_. Dad…_

She tried to get up, but her limbs didn't respond. Instead she felt herself falling, and collapsed on her side. _No._ The floor felt cool against her cheek. _No, please don't do this, please-- _

"Me?" Wildrider said as the other Decepticons began to move away. "How come I… wait, do I have to take it all the way to the rendering plant?"

"No, just put it in cold storage until the rest of the camp's taken care of, and then we'll move all the organic resources together."

"Okay." A hand slid under Geri, scooping her body off the floor. "Hey, you did pretty well," was the last thing she heard, a voice speaking as if from a long way away. "Getting this far, I mean. And don't worry, kiddo, you won't feel a thing."

Then there was only silence.

* * *

******

The next morning, the Stunticons distributed the rest of the treated food and waited impatiently for it to work.

Before noon, it had. As Motormaster pointed out, there would always be a few humans who hadn't refueled, for whatever reason – they were saving it for later, or they weren't feeling hungry – but it didn't matter. They were sent to the rendering plant too. Dead End found two more who had been trying to escape, and had just enough time to give them an annoyed lecture on making extra work for him before Drag Strip took them away at gunpoint.

By evening, the remains had all been processed and the power plants were closed. The Stunticons loaded the resulting energon into Motormaster's trailer in preparation. Nothing was wasted, although they didn't need any of the equipment in the camp. Wildrider shot the spotlights out while Breakdown checked the admin building to make sure they had left nothing behind.

Then Wildrider and Drag Strip had one last race through the emptiness of Camp 521 until they realized the other Stunticons had quietly slipped away without them, so they tore off and caught up less than ten minutes later.

Night fell as the Stunticons headed for the space bridge and for Cybertron, as they had been ordered.

* * *

_Author's note : Too many tragedies have been brought about by people who obeyed orders regardless of what those orders were._

_A belated but grateful thank you to Kookaburra and to anonymous writer for the inspiration for this 'verse and this story._


	13. Daring

_Chapter 13 summary: Drag Strip confronts Stephanie about her deliberately damaging and abandoning him. Continued from Chapter 11. _

_

* * *

_**13. Daring: Changing the Script**

Stephanie glanced to the right, saw Drag Strip and returned to staring at the mirrors on the opposite wall. For once she was – well, not exactly on eye level with him, but at least further off the ground than usual. She sat on the top ledge of one of the stepladders that her crew used when cleaning and painting and prepping the jets, who were tall even in their alt-modes, but she didn't think the small boost in height would make any difference to anything she had to say.

And she didn't care now. It was all over, she'd lost nearly half her cast and her film had fallen through. The one glance she'd had of Drag Strip had been enough to show her the fury that all but radiated off him like heat, but she felt more tired and resigned than afraid. _So he's going to kill me. At least it'll all be over, and I won't have to worry about getting this film made, being humiliated before the whole world when everyone finds out it _isn't_ going to be made, paying off all my sponsors and creditors and employees--_

The last part made her feel guilty, but it was too late for any more doubts and regrets. Drag Strip reached the stepladder and stood over her, his features contorted almost beyond recognition. His paintjob, perfect and polished that morning, was scratched in a hundred places and his armor dented. But his fingers clenched and unclenched and she knew he was ready to rip her apart.

"Got any last words?" His voice was raw and tense.

Part of Stephanie wanted to tell him to just get it over with, but another part of her thought of all the people who had counted on this project, people whose hopes and investments and livelihoods would depend on the next few moments. She raised her head.

"Yes," she said. She couldn't meet Drag Strip's eyes (_optics_, she corrected herself automatically) because of the band of glass that covered them, so she just stared into that redness and hoped it wasn't the last thing she ever saw. "I was wrong to do what I did. I'm sorry."

She knew at once that the last thing he had expected was an apology; he'd been waiting for her to get defensive or to blame him. He recovered fast, though. "What you did? You mean ganging up with the 'bots to stab me in the back?"

"That would be it," Stephanie said, ignoring the rage in his voice. She supposed that if she had felt so betrayed, she would be angry too. "I thought that if you and Fireflight were able to, uh, interact off-set, work together to get out of a bad situation, you would get along better and we wouldn't need to do so many takes of your scenes together." _And I might not need to worry that the two of you were going to kill each other._

Drag Strip's mouth twisted. "You thought we were going to do a _Swept Away_?"

Stephanie was a little taken aback, even though she knew that the Stunticons seemed to get their knowledge of human interactions from films. "Well, yes. Something like that."

He looked down at her with an expression that seemed to be edging more into surprise and contempt than rage. "And you really thought that was going to… wait a minute. Was this all your plan from the start?"

Stephanie nodded.

Drag Strip moved so fast that she didn't even have time to react; suddenly two large yellow hands were clamped on the sides of the stepladder's top ledge and his face was within inches of hers. "Don't fragging lie to me! Fireflight mentioned Silverbolt coming up with some stupid idea. Was this it?"

Stephanie fought an urge to cringe away. He was too close to her and her eyes stung from looking into the burning heat behind his visor. "Y-yes. But don't blame him. I asked him for help and when he suggested this I went along with it."

Drag Strip still didn't move. "Why'd you try to keep him out of this? Because he's a slagging Aerialbot? Is that why he gets the protective treatment and I get thrown into a canyon?"

"No, it's because you're a jerk and he's not!" Stephanie shouted.

She had never raised her voice to any of the Decepticons except when giving them directions on-set, had always spoken to them with as much courtesy as she was capable of mustering. Now she _yelled_ for the first time, and it felt good to see Drag Strip flinch back, startled. She took full advantage of the moment, perhaps the first and last time she would have the upper hand, and climbed up on the stepladder's top ledge, heels clacking against the metal. Then she stood there, hoping her knees wouldn't tremble.

"You've made things difficult for the rest of the cast and the crew for some time now," she said more quietly. "And I didn't know how to deal with that. Even if I was capable of hitting you, I wouldn't do it, and I don't think yelling at you would have any effect either. So I gave in to you too often, and it got to the point where I was so desperate I listened to Silverbolt because I had no other choice."

It occurred to her that she had never been so honest with any of the Decepticons before, but before she could think about that further, Drag Strip straightened up slowly. His expression was unreadable, but at least he didn't seem on the verge of killing her.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before?" he said.

"Because you'd have laughed in my face and gone on your merry way doing whatever you wanted." Stephanie was no longer afraid that her knees would tremble; just speaking her mind felt like a weight being taken off her shoulders.

"But you're telling me now?"

"Well, now you seem a little more inclined to take me seriously, rather than brushing me off as some little squishy whom you listen to when it pleases you and ignore when it doesn't." Stephanie sat down again. "And now it doesn't matter, because the film's fallen through." Drag Strip tilted his head a little to one side, as if curious, and she continued. "The Aerialbots have quit."

"Can't you manage without 'em?"

"We can't do _Romeo and Juliet_ without them – the cast list for that is too large." Stephanie hesitated. "You know… when we first met I really wanted to do something small and personal, the kind of project best suited to an independent filmmaker."

Drag Strip's lip curled. "What, like the one about a washed-up human and his wreck of a car? Who in the Pit would've watched that?"

"So you think more people would have wanted to watch our version of _Romeo and Juliet_?"

"Frag yeah. I mean, we got chase scenes, fight scenes, the works. Why wouldn't they?"

"I agree with you," Stephanie said. "I think millions of people would have wanted to watch that. But by that token, the cast and crew would have to put more effort into their parts and into making the production the best that anyone's ever seen."

Drag Strip said nothing for a long moment. "You couldn't have done a piddly little flick about one human and one car, anyway," he said finally. "Not with us. You needed something grand and spectacular."

Stephanie considered that. He had a point; to some extent, the film had to be suited to the actors, and she couldn't have cast either Aerialbots or Stunticons in something small and quiet and literary. "Yes. We needed something larger-than-life for you, dramatic and violent, but with a strong human touch to keep it anchored for the audience. Shakespeare was the only choice."

She looked up at Drag Strip and frowned. "You don't like it, though. And it's not because of the language. Is it the romance you object to?"

"I could live with it. Guess humans need that kind of soppy slag. But the ending… if we could change that…"

"Kind of a moot point now," Stephanie said, shrugging. "I mean, the Aerialbots are gone. The only thing left is to make sure everyone gets paid--"

"The frag it is." Drag Strip folded his arms. "The Aerialbots are still on set."

"Probably just getting Fireflight's wing repaired before they leave."

Drag Strip ignored her and plowed on. "If the ending was a little more upbeat, the film would be so much better."

"How…" Stephanie had had a great many surreal moments since the start of the worst project of her life, but that had to be at the top of the list. "How can the ending be more upbeat when the hero and heroine are dead?"

One corner of Drag Strip's mouth quirked up. "I have an idea."

Those words, from either Autobot or Decepticon, now sent a cold tremor down her spine but before she could say anything there was a chorused roar of jet engines outside. Drag Strip turned and strode to the door of the makeup shed. Stephanie scrambled down from the stepladder and hurried after him, heels clacking on the floor. She pushed between his foot and the door and looked out to see the quartet of fighter planes, now already airborne.

"I told you, they're gone," she said.

"Then we catch up with them!" Drag Strip's body tilted forward suddenly, arms folding into his chassis. Stephanie took a startled step back. She had seen both 'bots and 'cons transform before, more times than she could count, but what exactly did Drag Strip mean by "we" and "catch up with them"?

Six tires thudded against the ground and Drag Strip's spoiler sprang up, scratched and dented but still bright enough to catch the sunlight. "Get in!" she heard him say over the snarl of a high-performance engine starting up.

Before she could think twice, Stephanie put a hand on his side and clambered over into the driver's seat. _No, passenger compartment,_ she corrected herself automatically, careful to keep her hands and feet away from the levers and console. She could still remember Drag Strip threatening any humans who dared to touch his controls.

"Harness!" Drag Strip snapped.

The Aerialbots were a wedge of small dark shapes, already growing smaller. Stephanie reached back over her shoulders and dragged the straps of the harness down, locking them into place. _Wait, don't real racecar drivers have helmets and other protective equipment?_

Drag Strip jolted forward with an acceleration that slammed her back against the seat. He tore out of the compound, skidding on three tires as he shot past a green and purple shape that was one of the Constructicons – at that speed, Stephanie couldn't recognize him. The numbers on the digital speedometer before her blurred. She grabbed the sides of the open passenger compartment and held on desperately, only too aware of what would happen to her if Drag Strip lost control and flipped over.

The Aerialbots were specks in the distance. Drag Strip's speed kept increasing, but Stephanie knew he wouldn't make it, not against 'bots who could break the sound barrier.

Even if she had been fool enough to want to say that to him, though, she couldn't speak, nor could she have made herself heard. At his speed, the wind that hit her was like a hand pressed flat over her face. She could hardly breathe and her eyes filled with tears. His tires ripped through dust and sand, throwing up a cloud of it, and the roar of an engine pushed to its limits shuddered through her. Every internal organ felt as though it was turning to jelly, pounded by G-forces that were only getting stronger.

"We're gaining on 'em!" Drag Strip said.

Stephanie could barely see by that point. The dials and screens before her flashed and changed in a reddish smudge. The pistons of the engine block behind her rammed home with shattering force. _Gaining on them? I know he's fast, but he's not that--_

There was a muffled roar as Drag Strip's thrusters kicked on. The world turned black for an instant. Stephanie bit down on her tongue, tasting blood, but the sharp pain shocked her back into reality. She blinked her vision clear and saw the shadows against the ground just ahead of them. With the burst of speed from Drag Strip's thrusters, they were close enough that she could look up and see the jets which threw the shadows.

"They're not answering my comm!" She heard the strain in Drag Strip's voice and knew he couldn't maintain that breakneck pace for much longer. "Use your megaphone! Make them stop!"

Stephanie's hands felt as though they had been glued to the sides of his passenger compartment, but she pried one loose and fumbled the megaphone from her belt with shaking fingers. The ground ahead seemed to be a mile away one second and flashing before her, much like her life, in the next. She tore her attention away from that and stared up at the distant, pale undercarriages of the Aerialbots as she lifted the megaphone, which seemed to weigh at least three times what it should. Her mouth was dry and her breathing came as hyperventilations, so when she tried to speak, nothing happened.

"Make them stop!" Drag Strip yelled at her.

Stephanie jammed the mouthpiece hard against her teeth and tried again. Her voice came out in a wordless croak.

"_Make them stop, bitch!_"

"Stop!" Stephanie screamed, her voice so deep and raw that it felt as though someone had reached down her throat and ripped the word free from her guts. Once that was out, though, the rest was easier. She twisted around a little and shouted up at the sky. "Stop! We need to speak to you! Just… please stop!"

There was a sudden, muffled pop. Stephanie only realized it was one of Drag Strip's tires bursting when the racecar slewed hard, five tires shrieking as they fought to grab the ground. Even with the harness, she was thrown against the side of the passenger compartment. The world spun around them.

She was vaguely aware of a rush of smoke-thick, scorching hot air passing over them and the thunder of jet engines as Drag Strip finally came to a halt, trembling. His engine was smoking as well; she smelled overheated metal and burning rubber.

The Aerialbots landed in a half-circle ahead of them as Stephanie fumbled for the harness, releasing it with the last of her strength. She wasn't sure if she would faint or vomit or both as she crawled over the edge of the passenger compartment, then fell to her hands and knees on the ground. Her limbs gave out completely and she folded over, forearms to the ground and her face buried in them.

From a distance she heard heavy footsteps coming closer.

"Is she all right?" someone said.

"Does she look all right?" someone else replied. "She got here in a fragging Stunticon. I'm surprised she's still alive."

Stephanie fought to raise her head. Most of her body didn't respond, and she thought for a horrible moment that she had become paralyzed somehow before she registered something hard in her palms and looked down to realize that she was gripping handfuls of the ground.

Someone else spoke too quietly for her to hear – her ears still rang from the ride – but she heard Drag Strip's irritated reply. "My prisoner? The frag are you talking about? If I wanted a prisoner I'd get Wildrider to carry it. I don't want those juicebags anywhere near my controls if I can help it."

Slowly feeling started to come back to Stephanie's limbs and when she heard Drag Strip transform she managed to struggle to a kneeling position. _I'm still the producer here. I'm still in charge. I'm not going to lie here like a fish that jumped out of an aquarium, feebly wriggling its life away while everyone stands around and stares._

The Aerialbots had surrounded her, and they looked relieved to see her sitting up. She wiped sweat away from her face with one sleeve, swallowed hard and tried to speak.

"Stephanie wanted to tell you lot to come back," Drag Strip said with his usual impeccable timing and manners. "We've got a way to make the film even better, the best thing ever on the silver screen, and you'd have to be idiots to stay away."

"Thank you, Drag Strip, I think I'll take it from here," Stephanie said as politely as she could. She looked up at the Aerialbots, suddenly realizing that she had no idea what Drag Strip's idea was. "But please do explain our plan for the ending of the film first. You made it sound quite compelling when we discussed it earlier."

Drag Strip looked as though he wasn't sure whether to glower or to sneer at her, but settled for a short, contemptuous snort. "Yeah. Okay, here's the deal." _He does enjoy being the center of attention, especially from 'bots who would rather shoot him than listen to him_, Stephanie thought. "At the end, you know how everyone gathers in the crypt and cries over Romeo and the los-uh, the love of his life? And then the families decide they've reformed and they'll build statues of the two of them and be best friends forever?"

"Yes?" Skydive said warily.

"In my version, the two factions see just how stupid it is to fall in love with someone from the opposing side, but they don't want to feel like Romeo and Juliet just threw their lives away. Even though they did, the morons. So the factions say that they will continue the war in the names of their fallen heroes, fighting under a Romeo banner or a Juliet flag, and they're going to struggle even harder to defeat the other side and make sure something like this never happens again. In death, they'll say, Romeo and Juliet will achieve what they couldn't accomplish in life – they'll help bring the war to an end. And then the battle breaks out, fiercer than before, lots of explosions, maybe superimpose my face over the whole thing, and… the curtain falls." Drag Strip grinned broadly. "Well? What d'you think?"

There was a long silence. Stephanie moved her mouth, but nothing came out. She had a sudden terrible feeling that one or more of the Aerialbots was about to burst out laughing.

And then Fireflight said, his voice very hesitant, "It kinda makes sense."

They all turned to look at him, and he shrugged. "I mean… if the two families have hated each other for so long, it might take a lot more than this to bring them together. And they might hate each other even more for being sorta responsible for Romeo's or Juliet's death."

Despite all the problems between him and Drag Strip, Fireflight was always truthful and fair. Stephanie was suddenly very grateful for that. His words weren't exactly a ringing endorsement, nor had he said he would return to the film, but it was a start.

_My turn now._ "That will tie the end of the film to its beginning," she said. "Remember it started out with a Montague-Capulet confrontation? It'll end the same way, giving the audience a closed-circle impression. And it'll link the film to real life. After all, the title is _Love and War: A Transformers' Romeo and Juliet_… and a lot of Transformers seem to prefer the war to the love."

"Is it gonna be a major battle?" Air Raid said.

"Certainly," Stephanie said. "I mean, it'll be the last scene of the film, so we might as well pull out all the stops. We won't need the sets any longer after that scene."

Air Raid made a noncommittal sound, his optics darting to the rest of his team.

"But it'll be changing Shakespeare," Skydive said, obviously shocked. "You can't change Shakespeare."

"Why not?" Drag Strip said. "If it doesn't work, change it! And I think the guy's dead, so he's not going to sue Stephanie. But if he does I'll shoot him."

"Still, we're not coming back," Slingshot said. "Not after what he…" that was punctuated by a hard glare at Drag Strip. "…did to Fireflight."

Stephanie was well aware that Drag Strip wouldn't back down, much less apologize. "What exactly _did_ you do to him?" she said, turning to Drag Strip. She had a feeling it hadn't been something as straightforward or easily forgotten as a beating. Drag Strip struck her as the type who could be much more hurtful than that.

"He broke my gyrocompass," Fireflight said quietly. "Silverbolt gave me that because I'd managed to fly ten missions without getting lost or crashing into anything, and… well, it's broken now."

_Goddamnit,_ Stephanie thought, though she could tell why Drag Strip had done that. His own commander wouldn't have given him anything for any accomplishment. She glanced back at Drag Strip, who radiated defiance but wasn't saying anything. He stared at a point somewhere between two of the Aerialbots.

"Maybe we can mend it," she said. "Do you still have it, Fireflight?"

"'Course I still have it, but it's in bits and pieces. No one could repair--"

"Hook could," Drag Strip said under his breath, gaze still fixed in mid-air.

A guarded interest flickered in the Aerialbots' expressions, and Stephanie's heart lifted. "Take the compass and ask him to mend it," she said to Drag Strip. Her voice was polite but firm; she'd learned by then not to tiptoe around him and make everything a humble request. "That okay with you, Fireflight?"

"Uh, sure." Fireflight looked a little taken aback, but he handed over the pieces of the gyrocompass and Drag Strip took them. "I – I guess this means we'll be coming back?" he said to the other Aerialbots.

Slingshot and Skydive looked undecided, but Air Raid's optics lit up. "That battle at the end sounds cool," he said.

"It will be," Stephanie said, allowing herself to smile for the first time. "It's going to be the best adaptation of _Romeo and Juliet_ ever filmed, and you'll all be part of it. Now you can take the rest of the day off. I'll see you back here tomorrow."

The Aerialbots took off in a great cloud of dust and she covered her nose and mouth until the rumble of their engines faded into the distance. Drag Strip watched them leave, then looked down at her.

"Make sure I get screenwriter credits," he said.

"You get what?"

"I inspired you to change the ending, didn't I? So I should be credited for that."

"Sure," Stephanie said. "Can I also have your email address? Everyone who gets pissed off that we've butchered Shakespeare can direct their comments at the 'con responsible."

"Give me a break, Stephanie. We won't be butchering Shakespeare, we'll be making it better – what worked a million years ago won't work so well now unless it adapts." Drag Strip bent to examine the ruined tire at his ankle, then straightened up. "Oh, and one last thing. You ever get Sideswipe to run me off the road like that again, I'll sic Motormaster on you."

Stephanie had a feeling that no one could "sic" Motormaster on anything, but she knew better than to say so. "I understand. And if you ever call me a bitch again, I'll sic Prowl on you."

"Yeah, right. How would you know Prowl?"

"Oh, didn't I mention that we have weekly meetings to discuss anything that happens on the sets?" Stephanie brushed dust off her clothes. "And before you ask, no, I'm not saying where or when the meetings are."

"As if I wanted to know. Now, if we haven't got anything else to discuss, I'm heading back to the sets."

Despite his words, Stephanie felt better; she was learning to distinguish Drag Strip being deliberately defiant and nasty from his more normal, everyday level of annoying behavior. The one had to be nipped in the bud; the other could safely be ignored. "Could you give me a ride?" She would either have to remove her shoes or limp on to the sets on a mass of blisters if she walked who knew how many miles back.

"In case you haven't noticed, I've got a busted tire. I won't be driving back."

"Yes, I do realize that. I thought I could sit on your shoulder."

"You thought you could…" The corner of his mouth twitched, and Stephanie suddenly knew she had made a mistake, but even as she started to speak, Drag Strip moved with all of his blurring speed. His hand closed around her.

"Of course you can sit on my shoulder," he said and lifted her carefully. He set her down on a block of yellow metal that, she noticed a moment later, didn't exactly have a lot of handholds. She shifted away from the joint between his arm and shoulder – if one of her legs was trapped there, it would probably be mincemeat before it was released – and scooted closer to his helm, hoping she could grab on to that if she felt as though she was going to slip.

_Still, the view isn't bad from up here_, she thought. _And at least I don't have to worry about how to get back to the sets--_

Thrusters roared. There was an upward lurch and suddenly Drag Strip was airborne. Stephanie gasped and clung to the edge of his helm as he began to tilt and reorient himself parallel to the ground, which was falling away from them fast. Even over the thrusters and the howl of wind as his speed increased, she heard him laugh.

"Oh, didn't I mention I'd be flying?" he said.

_The story continues in Chapter 15…_

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**demonicSuperCow** : I love how everyone sympathizes with Drag Strip even though he's in the wrong here – after all, he deliberately broke someone else's prized belonging. :) But one of the most fun things about being a writer is being able to set things up so that the readers feel what you want them to feel, rather than an automatic dislike for the technical villain of the piece.

Thanks for the review!

**Yuki Hikari :** Hope you're enjoying college! I'm in college too, so I completely understand being busy. Don't worry about it. :) Just happy you were entertained by the stories.

Yes, Motormaster was the one chuckling at the end of "Drinking Energon". I think even he was pleased at Wildrider's little trick. As for Silverbolt's plan, it wasn't an honest one at all, but Silverbolt was a bit manipulative in "The Key to Vector Sigma". IIRC, he made the other Aerialbots return to the Ark by telling them that if the 'bots were so worthless, the Aerialbots could take over. And he's fond of his team, whereas he has no reason to give a lug nut what happens to Drag Strip. Unfortunately his plan didn't involve Fireflight crashing into the mountain.

**Taipan Kiryu :** I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that forcefield technology is something the 'cons developed, but only one Autobot has (Trailbreaker, if I recall correctly). For some reason, the 'bots can't take it any further – even Wheeljack's forcefield in one episode ("Microbots"?) only lasted five minutes.

The only way an Autobot would have been able to get along with Drag Strip would be to avoid any comparisons or hints that they were more fortunate than him in any way. Which would try the patience of a saint, let alone an Aerialbot.

And you're right, the end could have been violent, but Drag Strip realized on some level that Fireflight would recover easily from physical violence. He's a fighter jet, after all, and he has three brothers who probably tussle with him on a regular basis. But smashing something he valued highly and which he worked hard for… that would hurt.

I wanted Geri as the heroine of "Obedient" because many of the readers would already know and like her – not too much setup needed there. But more importantly, she's supposed to be Wildrider's friend – in other words, things are not supposed to be like this for her. I was aiming for the Twilight Zone feeling of "if you had taken one step differently back then, look how things would have turned out in the future".

And we'll see more of her resourcefulness in her next story, which _does_ have a happy ending.

**Fire From Above** : Yes, Drag Strip was doing his best to find some way in which he was superior to Fireflight – he's a wonderful combination of insecurity and pride that way. Which is kind of ironic, since Fireflight complimented him on his coordination, reflexes and toughness.

Glad you liked Geri in "Camp 521" as well. I have another story set in the real 'verse where she's alive and well, because I feel like I need something happy and amusing to get the dark oppressive feel of "Obedient" out of my mind.

**Dragon260** : Hope it didn't depress you too much! Rather than my usual fics with happy endings, I wanted "Obedient" to reflect real life as closely as possible (specifically the real-life genocide during World War II). So even though Geri tries her best, she dies. I love writing about the 'cons, but they're cruel enough to do all that if they were ever in charge.

**Peacewish :** That's one of the camps I had in mind as I wrote the story. Thanks for commenting!

**Kookaburra :** I know what you mean – both Drag Strip and Fireflight are sympathetic characters. That makes for the most wrenching stories, IMO: you feel for both sides. I like to think that Drag Strip's silence at the end was his (very, very small) conscience finally making itself felt.

Glad you enjoyed "Obedient" too! :)_  
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	14. Horny

_Chapter summary : Wildrider wants to get at least one of his teammates in the berth, but things don't quite work out as he plans. _

_Warning: slash. _

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**14. Horny: Smooth Moves**

On the whole, Wildrider enjoyed life. He had a room to himself on the _Nemesis_. He had plenty of highways and cities outside, just waiting for him to charge in and play demolition derby, and lots of human law enforcement vehicles to play tag with. He had a very nice alt-mode and three teammates who he found attractive, in different ways.

The problem was getting those teammates in the berth.

Breakdown was sleek and streamlined, with a paintjob that Wildrider could almost feel without touching – it would be cool under his fingers, with the slightest scent of ozone. But Breakdown was nervous and skittish whenever he thought someone might be watching, which was pretty much all the time. Doing it outside was impossible, since humans (or worse, Autobots) might wander by. Doing it anywhere in the _Nemesis_ was almost as impossible unless Breakdown had inspected the location for hidden cameras first.

Wildrider had once obligingly followed Breakdown to one of the lower levels of the ship, to a place that was supposedly devoid of cameras or prying eyes, only to find that the place was a storage closet hardly large enough for Breakdown, let alone for the two of them. After that, he had suggested that if Breakdown was so fond of camera-free enclosed spaces, there was a huge cabinet built into the wall of Megatron's private audience room. Wildrider's favorite fantasy was of hiding in that cabinet while Megatron met with his team leaders.

He really liked the idea of getting it on while Motormaster was so close but oblivious to what they were doing. When he suggested that, though, Breakdown locked himself in the storage closet and refused to come out. Ever.

Drag Strip, on the other hand, wasn't afraid of being seen. And although Wildrider hadn't really cared for bright yellow at first – it reminded him of two of the Autobots – he liked Drag Strip's voice. It was low and gravelly, the kind of voice that would send rough hard tremors clear through him if Drag Strip was ever to whisper in his audial. And six wheels meant six sets of sensitive wheel-wells. Before long Wildrider forgot that there were yellow Autobots.

Except Drag Strip always wanted to be pursued. Whoever he was with had to make the first move, lower their forcefields first, show their obvious attraction (and preferably admiration) while he remained aloof. At first Wildrider took that for a superior attitude, though he soon realized just how much self-doubt Drag Strip was trying to hide. Which made matters worse, since Drag Strip didn't _want_ anyone to see past his façade; he preferred other 'cons to hate him for his arrogance rather than to despise him for his insecurity.

Motormaster wasn't even an option. Then again, "Motormaster" and "fun" occupied different compartments in Wildrider's mind, and those two compartments were about as far apart as they could get. Messed-up though his mind often was, Wildrider felt it was right about that much. At its best, being with Motormaster meant uncertainly accepting whatever pleasure he chose to dole out, all the while waiting for the other fist to drop. At its worst, it meant degradation and pain and humiliation, none of which shifted Wildrider's gears.

And of course, Motormaster chose who he did it with, where they did it, when and how. It wasn't exactly Wildrider's idea of a great time.

Which left Dead End. He didn't have Breakdown's beautiful colors or Drag Strip's showiness, and something about the mask and visor tended to hold others at arm's-length. But he took such excellent care of himself that Wildrider couldn't help watching the play of light on deep-red armor that looked liquid with smoothness, polished to a mirror finish. Wildrider hadn't been able to watch anything on Earth without wanting to jump it, chase it, play with it or destroy it, so he certainly couldn't leave that kind of perfectly maintained chassis untouched.

The only question was which would give out first, his interest in Dead End or Dead End's disinterest in everything.

He got his chance after an energon raid one day. Since Motormaster had the trailer, he usually carried the cubes, but Breakdown suggested that the other Stunticons do it instead – that was something the Autobots wouldn't anticipate. So the Autobots ended up chasing Motormaster while the other Stunticons paired up and tore off in different directions, focusing on speed rather than engagement.*

As a result, Wildrider was in the middle of nowhere when one of his tire blowouts occurred. He skidded, went into a four-hundred-degree spin, plowed through a guardrail and fetched up half on and half off the road.

"A few more feet off the road and you would have met an explosive end," Dead End pointed out glumly.

Wildrider glanced back. His rear wheels were nearly poised over a sheer drop, but knowing how close he had come to dying made him feel even more alive… and in the mood. "Aww, don't sound so mopey. I'm still here."

"For how much longer? This was just another reminder of how short our lives are, how soon they'll be over. Not that I needed one, of course."

_Okay, you need to get some,_ Wildrider decided. He felt sure that even Dead End wouldn't be so depressed when basking in the afterglow of a great overload. "Better get off the road while I change the tire," he said.

He was rather hoping Dead End would politely offer to change the tire himself, but Dead End didn't seem too keen on getting his hands greasy. So he half-drove and half-limped to a trail that sloped down from the road while Dead End trailed behind him, remarking that the delay would give the Autobots a chance to track them down and destroy them both.

_Yeah, but what a way to go,_ Wildrider thought, grinning inwardly as he slid down the trail in a cloud of dust, landed on the ground and transformed. Cubes hit the ground all around him, but he hardly noticed as he looked around, scoping out the area.

_Not bad_, he thought. A short distance away, a shallow river reflected glimmers of sunlight, but there was a good thirty feet of bare gravel between the higher ground and the water. _Perfect._ Dead End really hated it when he got organic material on his chassis.

A few birds had started up from the side of the cliff at the roar of his engine, but they settled back into their nests as Wildrider began to loosen the lug nuts of his ruined tire. That was so familiar a task that he could do it one-handed and without looking, so he glanced covertly at Dead End, who hadn't even bothered to transform. At any other time, Wildrider might have gone ahead anyway, to see just how far he could get with one of his teammates in alt-mode, but at that time he just wanted the straight stuff.

"Can you help me tighten these?" he said. "I can't do it."

"But you managed to loosen them," Dead End pointed out.

"I did?" Wildrider let his optics flash a blink and tried for a confused expression.

Dead End sighed. "Your memory's growing worse, Wildrider. I think that's a sign of inexorable processor corruption."

Wildrider shivered involuntarily; big words in a faint foreign accent always did that to him. He put on his most coaxing smile and held the handful of lug nuts out.

"Oh, very well, just stop grimacing at me." Dead End transformed, leaning sideways as he did so to drop his own cargo of cubes, which landed in a neat pile. He plodded over to Wildrider, inspected the spanner for cleanliness and took each lug nut between thumb and forefinger before fitting it back into place and tightening it.

Whether he intended to do so or not, that drew the process out and made it even more pleasant. By the time he was done, Wildrider's core temperature had climbed a few degrees and a little thrill of anticipation was singing through his wires. He subspaced his tools and made the new tire spin on his shoulder.

"Could we leave now?" Dead End said.

Wildrider grinned. "What's the rush? Lemme thank you for the help first."

"What are you ta…oh." Dead End looked up and shook his head a little. "I might have known."

"Don't get so keen or you'll overload without me." Wildrider moved closer, watching as he did so. Dead End was so quiet and low-key that it wasn't always obvious when he was interested, and Wildrider was bad at noticing nuances.

"This is not a good idea," Dead End said flatly. "The Autobots are after us."

"Just one or two of 'em, and I'll kick their afts if they find us." Actually, Wildrider felt so turned on that he thought he would do something quite different to their afts, but he also felt sure that he would prefer it with Dead End. _Maybe I should just splash one of those cubes all over him and lick it off. No, he'd start complaining about his finish._

He cupped the side of Dead End's jaw – or tried to, which was when he realized a forcefield was in the way. "Hey, power it down."

"I don't particularly feel like interfacing here."

"But you don't feel like 'facing anywhere," Wildrider said, feeling frustrated. He racked his processors for some idea, any idea, that would work. "I can't help getting revved up, not when your paintjob looks like it went on this morning."

"It did."

"Your finish looks like a mirror made out of red, shadowy… stuff, and it's lovely next to that black glass. And that look-but-don't-touch attitude. C'mon, can you blame a 'con for trying when you're so gorgeous?"

No expression was visible through the mask and visor, but Dead End's voice sounded a little less apathetic when he said, "Gorgeous?"

"Mmmm." Wildrider drew the word out into a long rough rumble, his engine echoing it. "Perfect."

"Thank you. I do try. Not that that will do any good--"

"Dead End? Take it down, _then_ keep talking."

"Oh, very well."

The forcefield flickered off, and Wildrider sighed in relief; constant flattery was neither his strong point nor something that kept him aroused. He ran a fingertip around the rim of Dead End's audial and felt for the catch of the battle mask. "Let's get it all off," he whispered as he leaned forward, pressing Dead End against the cliff-face.

He got one kiss before Dead End pushed back firmly. "Don't. It'll scrape my hood."

"Okay, we'll do it on the ground then."

"That'll scrape my hood too."

_I am going to play noughts and crosses on that fragging hood with a laser one day._ "Fine, I'll be on the bottom!" He gripped Dead End's shoulders, then put one foot on the cliff-face and shoved as hard as he could. His center of gravity shifted abruptly and he fell over, pulling Dead End with him. They crashed in a heap on the sun-warmed ground and Wildrider heard a startled exclamation that was muffled by his mouth as he drew Dead End's head down.

That kiss was long and deep and just what he needed. _Mmm, that's good,_ he thought. He felt Dead End start to relax against him, and dark hands moved to caress his chassis. _That's better._

Dead End lifted his head suddenly. "Did you hear that?" he said.

"Hear what?" Wildrider could focus on very little beyond the thrumming of engines, the whir of cooling fans and the metallic whispers and clanks as their limbs moved together. In the next moment, though, he heard a muffled _pop_ that sounded like a bubble bursting.

Dead End half-twisted around. Wildrider followed his line of sight and realized what had happened. The cubes of energon that had dropped out of Dead End's passenger compartment when he transformed had fallen into a little stack, which looked very tidy but which also meant that the sunlight passing through the top cubes was focused as if by lenses on to the cubes lower down. They were glowing with heat, and as he watched, a bubble rose from one as the energon began to boil.

Wildrider leaped to his feet with a squawk of alarm, shoving Dead End off unceremoniously, and bounded over to the cubes. He managed to pick up the ones on top, but the others even _felt_ hot to the touch, so he winced and cursed and blew on them and licked his singed fingers until Dead End meandered up and produced a chamois or three. "Better get them loaded again," he said.

"Nuh-uh." After all the trouble he had gone through to get that far, Wildrider wasn't planning on letting a few cubes stop him, or even a few dozen. "I'll just shade them from the sun and they'll be fine."

"And how do you plan to do that? Do you keep a parasol in subspace?"

Wildrider checked, because he knew he did carry a lot of junk around, but he didn't have a parasol. "I'll put them over there," he said, pointing at the base of the cliff about forty feet away. The cliff jutted out at an angle over it, which cast a nice cool wedge of shadow on the ground.

Dead End muttered something about the cliff looking as though it would collapse at any minute and bury the cubes, not to mention whoever was under the cliff at that moment, but Wildrider ignored that as he collected all the cubes, stacked them up beneath the outcropping of rock and then hurried back.

"Okay, that's done!" He plopped on to the ground and tugged at Dead End's wrist to pull him back down too.

"I can't believe you're still interested," Dead End said, looking over at the cubes in the distance as if expecting them to detonate at any moment.

"Hey, the energon ain't the only thing that's hot. Now could you get your chassis down here?"

"Why bother? Something else will go wrong too--"

Wildrider drew Dead End's hand to his mouth and took two fingers inside, sucking. Simultaneously, his other hand around Dead End's knee, found the transformation seam just behind and slipped into it to pluck lightly at the wires. Dead End shuddered, knees flexing reflexively, and laughter gurgled in Wildrider's vocalizer as his gestaltmate's weight came down on him, sun-warmed and solid.

Dead End sprawled across him, moving to press the more sensitive places on their frames together.

That was one of the best things about being with another Stunticon, as far as Wildrider was concerned – knowing where all the hot spots were. He slid his fingers into both upper wheel-wells, probing and stroking in a way that made Dead End's optics flare a brilliant violet that even his visor couldn't hide. The sensors near the joining of neck and shoulder weren't as easy to find, but Wildrider licked teasingly over the entire area until he heard the startled purr of Dead End's engine, the hitch of air through intakes. Then he bit down lightly on the right point.

Dead End gasped. His own hands had been tracing the narrow gaps in the armor at Wildrider's hips, but now his fingers plunged in, flicking at hidden circuits and sensor nodes. At the same time, he lowered his head and moved just enough to press a kiss to a head-spike.

Then, without warning, he sucked on it. Wildrider jolted uncontrollably, his engine revving in a raw growl.

The birds on the cliff took off, as if startled by the sound, and flew overhead. There was a soft _plop_ and Dead End froze, his optics going very bright behind his visor.

"What?" Wildrider thought he would overload if Dead End did that to the other spike as well.

"Did a bird just…" Dead End scrambled off, trying to look over his shoulder until he seemed to realize that he wasn't alone. "I felt something on my hood," he said, and turned.

Wildrider stared at the white splotch. "Yeah." He had a sinking feeling that the moment had been shot to slag, but he was still so revved up that he could barely think, much less come up with some way to persuade Dead End to continue.

"Well, don't just stand there, Wildrider. Help me get it off."

"How about you help get me off?"

"This isn't funny. Could you wash it off before it dries?"

Wildrider opened his mouth, then shut it again when he realized that no matter how much he argued, Dead End really wouldn't be in the mood as long as he had organic waste anywhere on him. And by the time Wildrider had scooped up handfuls of water, flung them over the splotch as hard as he could, dried the precious hood with a rag and repeatedly reassured Dead End that the offending splotch was removed, he was no longer in the mood either.

_Guess we might as well go home_, he thought and went to get the energon cubes. It took him a moment to realize that although the front of the stack was still there – and visible even from a distance – most of the cubes behind it were gone.

"Where did they…" Dead End joined him at the cliff and looked down. In the dusty ground were the faint prints of feet – large enough that they were evidently another Transformer's – leading away from the cliff and back up to the road.

_But I didn't see any… oh no._ Wildrider transformed, frustration giving even more of an edge to his anger. "C'mon, load the rest of those!"

"I told you something else would go wrong," Dead End said, sighing. "When Motormaster finds out--"

"Shut up and come _on_! I'm gonna _kill_ that slagger Mirage!"

* * *

**Fire From Above** : Yes, that was the first time Drag Strip saw the film as a collective endeavor which needed everyone's input to succeed. And his (temporary) suppression of his ego was more difficult than catching up with the Aerialbots. That was definitely one of his finer moments.

**Taipan Kiryu** : Stephanie's going to be put to even more of a test when Motormaster shows up again. I think by then she'll have realized why filmmakers generally don't have Decepticons as stars. Or, for that matter, as transportation.

Even though Drag Strip did manage to sort-of redeem himself after his treatment of Fireflight and alienation of the Aerialbots. He's always a little nicer after he's been a colossal jerk, when his perpetually-late-to-the-party conscience has had a chance to tell him that he's gone too far.

I'm glad you liked his take on Shakespeare as well. He's quite right. They've got cars and planes, they've got weapons and sets that would otherwise go to waste, they've got even more hate for the opposing faction after the deaths of the hero and heroine… how could all that _not_ add up to a huge battle at the end?

**tomorrow4eva** : I've saved a Geri story with a happy ending to make up for that chapter – it'll be posted soon. And the Stockholm-verse stories are great reading, but they're NC-17 and even darker, so be prepared if you seek them out.

**Peacewish** : I could buy the two families eventually reconciling, possibly after negotiations, but not when the bodies of their children were barely cool. The Shakespearan ending is dramatic and bittersweet, but not realistic (though so much of Shakespeare is escapism rather than realism). Drag Strip manages to find an ending that works for all the Transformers, though.

Not sure if it will work for all the humans – there's a later chapter with the working title of "The Critics Rave", which is meant to be sarcastic. But this film is definitely going to end with an explosion rather than a whimper. And you've given me an idea for some involuntary Drag Strip/Fireflight action in a later chapter. Thanks very much!

_*Mentioned in "The Second Time", a fic written for the "Well Shagged" prompt and posted on my LiveJournal (there's a link to my site in my profile)._


	15. Interlude: Skywarp's Suggestion

_Chapter summary: Skywarp hears about a problem with the film's ending and offers a solution. Continued from Chapter 14._

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**15. Interlude : Skywarp's Suggestion**

"I don't get it," Skywarp said. "What's wrong with the new ending?"

"Don't you think it's somewhat depressing?" Stephanie circled the F-15's nosecone, wondering where in the world his voice came from. "I mean, the romance is doomed anyway, but the way Shakespeare wrote it, their love still ends up making a difference. Our film? No effect, other than making both factions fight even more fiercely."

"And that's _bad?_"

Even what Stephanie thought of as the powder room wasn't quite wide enough for Skywarp in his F-15 form, not with his wings. So the makeup crew were going over him outside, and she was hoping to get a few stills before they re-filmed the part where Air Raid was mourning over the Seeker's corpse.

_You'd think that after they die, they wouldn't cause any problems,_ she thought. _But they manage that somehow._ The day before, Air Raid had done Lady Capulet's grief-stricken speech perfectly, wings all but drooping as he cried out, "Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!"

Skywarp had promptly brightened his optics and asked why she was calling her nephew her cousin, before remembering that he was supposed to be dead. Then there had been a resounding _spang_ as Air Raid cuffed him on the back of the helm. Skywarp had retorted that he wasn't going to take that kind of thing from little wannabes who were a glint in Vector Sigma's processor when he was shooting down Autobots, and that was followed by some punches, kicks and teleporting. It was more of a routine than a real fight, but it still ruined the scene.

Stephanie's only consolation was that the blooper reels for their film would sell at least a million copies, and she had seven or eight hours of those bloopers now. Though she really wanted to accomplish more than capturing the surreality and outtakes of their film.

"Yes, it's bad," she said. "The vast majority of this film's audience will be human. In other words, most of the money we'll recover from this will come from humans. And humans like to believe in love and redemption."

Skywarp snickered. "Give me a fragging break!"

Stephanie had long since learned to deal with the Decepticon mockery of anything that could be considered human, Autobot-ish or both. "That doesn't really answer me, does it? Right now, the ending's fine for you guys, but most humans are going to consider it one hell of a downer. That means no sequel." _Thank God. _"And not too much profit for you guys."

"I'm not Swindle." But at least Skywarp had stopped laughing. He sat on his wheels, black and purple paint glossy as obsidian in the sunlight; the golden-tinted glass of his cockpit all but glowed. Stephanie thought that although Decepticons were frequently annoying, sometimes stupid, often vicious and always headache-inducing, they were really something to look at, not that she would ever tell them so.

"So what are you gonna do about it?" Skywarp said finally.

Stephanie shrugged, completing the tour of him to make sure he was as pristine as possible. "What do you think would be the best thing to do? Given that most of our audience will expect to see the traditional theme of love finally triumphing over vengeance, Pyrrhic though that victory is in the end."

"Primus. Okay, I didn't understand the last bit, but it sounds like you want some mech to decide that when it comes to the enemy, he'd rather frag 'em than slag 'em. Right?"

"…Right." _Shakespeare must be rolling over in his grave._ "And because of that, he refuses to continue the fighting and the killing."

"So what's the problem? Just have 'em interface at the end and fly off into the sunset together."

Stephanie stopped, wishing she had a copy of the script so she could smack him across the nosecone with it. "Just who is left alive at the end to do that?"

"Oh."

"Romeo's and Juliet's parents are out since they're already married. The main couple are dead. So are Mercutio and Tybalt. Who's left? And don't suggest something like the prince hooking up with Juliet's nurse, because neither Dead End nor Skydive will go for that."

"What about Tracks?" Skywarp said suddenly.

"Benvolio, you mean?"

He didn't appear to have heard that. "One of the Aerials was saying the other day that Tracks really wanted to have more of a part in the film. You could have him fall in love with a 'con, and at the end he could leave the 'bots." He chuckled.

"In other words, Benvolio could fall in love with a Capulet and realize at the end that hatred and grudges were wrong and wasteful, so at least he gets the point and walks away from the fighting." Stephanie stepped under one of Skywarp's wings so she had some shade. "It would work, if we had a Capulet left alive for him."

Skywarp twitched the wing. "Why not me?"

"Because you die halfway, remember?"

"But why can't Tracks still be in love with me? Maybe at the end he could look longingly at my beautiful deactivated frame laid out in its own wing of the Decepticon crypt--"

"Whoa!" Stephanie held up a hand. "Benvolio and Tybalt are both mechs – I mean, men."

"So? Drag Strip and Fireflight are both mechs, and they've got all those fragging _sickening_ scenes together."

"But Fireflight's playing a girl. Besides, it's a tip of the hat to the way Shakespeare's plays were originally acted out – men took women's roles back then."

"What difference does that make?"

Stephanie had to admit, giving Benvolio and Tybalt a _Brokeback Mountain_ moment really wasn't that much compared to casting fighter planes and sports cars as Shakespeare's characters. And it would be as close as she could get to the playwright's original intention for the ending, though she doubted any Shakespeare purists would see it that way. "It might work," she said slowly. "Provided Tracks agrees."

"Oh, he will," Skywarp said. "Those groundpounders all have hot wires for us Seekers."

"They do?"

"Sure! Frag, the Aerials had crushes on us – probably still do." He paused, then continued in a quieter, more confidential tone. "And it's even worse with the Stunticons. Dead End's been in love with me for vorn."

It hadn't occurred to Stephanie that Decepticons were capable of such deep feelings. "Really?" _It makes sense, though. Dead End spends so much time fussing about his appearance, and Skywarp does look lovely, so he's likely to be attracted to that. _

"Yeah. But he's just not my type, so I had to turn him down. That's why he's so depressed all the time."

"Oh." Stephanie was torn between fascination and a feeling that they were intruding on someone else's privacy. Dead End seemed very controlled and acted normally around Skywarp, so he wasn't likely to be pleased that she'd learned about him being rejected.

"Yeah, ask him about it. He'll deny it, but you'll be able to read between the lines." Skywarp sighed. "I wish someone could help him. Show him that he shouldn't waste his life being miserable because he can't have me."

Stephanie had no intention of playing therapist to any of the Decepticons, but she couldn't help wondering if Dead End could bring all that unrequited love and pent-up passion to his role. Maybe she could use it to coax a more fiery performance out of him. "Do… um, do any of the other Stunticons feel the same way?"

"Oh yes," Skywarp said. "Drag Strip's got a real thing going for Starscream…"

_The story continues in Chapter 17...._

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**Peacewish :** That was exactly what I had in mind. Wildrider's meanness to Mirage over the energon isn't IMO in character for him – unless he's paying Mirage back for something.

I wasn't sure whether to go with "noughts and crosses" or "tic tac toe". Guess I showed my British influence with the first one. :)

**Taipan Kiryu** : You've noticed this already, but I love comparing and contrasting the Stunticons from different perspectives like that. It's a fun way to bring out their characters. And Wildrider's, of course, is the most hedonistic. Not much gets him down, except a series of unfortunate events like this.

Funny you should mention a crypt. Considering that the end of their film takes place in a crypt, I was planning some hot action there. But that, as they say, is another story…

**Fire From Above :** I should have titled that chapter "Stunticoitus interruptus", shouldn't I? :) Thanks for reviewing!


	16. Bathtime

_Wildrider evades the Autobots and gets a bath. Takes place four years after the events of "The Girl Who Loved Wildrider"._

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_**16. Bathtime : What Friends Are For**

There hadn't even been enough time for Megatron's plan to fail. First the Aerialbots had appeared, firing on the Stunticons to separate them from the main force of Decepticons. Just as Motormaster all but jacknifed to a halt and gave the command to form Menasor, the jets broke off and fled. That was when the Autobot ground troops drove in to take on the one large target, relying on speed rather than firepower against the huge gestalt.

Menasor fragmented into the component Stunticons, and Wildrider at least would have been happy to keep fighting that way. Except Megatron sent an order to draw off as many of the Autobots as possible, now that the element of surprise had been lost.

So the Stunticons split up and raced off in different directions, each of them with an Autobot escort struggling to keep up. Wildrider plowed through a grocery store, an ice rink (where he spun over the slippery surface while yelling that he was doing a triple Axel) and a gas station, where he smashed the pumps and ignited the fuel. The resulting fireball effectively put Cliffjumper out of the battle, but it also took Wildrider's forcefield down.

He hurtled on with two more Autobots following, except now their shots connected and began to be a problem. Fighting them was an option right until Sunstreaker and Sideswipe joined the chase as well; even Wildrider wasn't crazy enough to try to take them all on at once. He cut through a park, leaped over a tall iron fence with spiked tops that tore something in his undercarriage and raced into the suburbs, knowing he couldn't go much further but deciding that he could at least take some humans hostage.

The town he fled through looked familiar, though, and the thought of humans finally connected the dots. A map flashed up on his nav system and he raced towards the correct street. He was leaking from both laserfire and the damage to his undercarriage by then, but the Autobots had fallen behind. Wildrider charged down the street, hoping to see the one human who would help him, and a tire blew out. Trailing smoke, he skidded to a jerky stop before the right house.

The girl had been sitting in the lawn chair with an audiobook in her lap, sipping a glass of lemonade, but she started up when he screeched to a halt. Lemonade slopped over her bare knees, but she didn't seem to notice as she pulled her headphones off. "Wildrider? What are you--"

"Geri, they're after me. You gotta hide me." Wildrider rolled forward and into the driveway, wincing as one rim took some of his weight. "Open the garage!"

"No, our car is in there. Who's after you, and how far away are they?"

"Autobots, and they'll be here any minute! We gotta do something!" Wildrider considered shoving the garage's current occupant out through the back wall, but he had a feeling Geri wouldn't like that. "Can I use your house as cover if I fight 'em?"

"No! And don't transform, the neighbors might see you." Geri hurried to the garage door and fumbled at it until she managed to lift it about two feet off the ground. "Stop here beside me and turn off your engine. Turn off that radio too!"

Wildrider obeyed, though he thought that if he was going down, he certainly didn't want to do so in silence. "What are you gonna do?"

Geri dragged out a container. "Is this soap?"

"No, motor oil. Are you giving me a top-up?"

"Is _this_ soap?"

"No, that's Eagle One… oh wait, that _is_ soap. Haha, my bad."

Geri pulled a bucket out from the garage, dumped some of the soap into it and uncoiled a garden hose from the wall. Her hands shook as they did that, though her voice didn't. "Just stay still and don't make a sound."

She turned on the tap and pressed a thumb over the end of the hose, so the water spurted out in a fierce spray. That splattered her as well, but the soap became a mass of suds in seconds. She straightened up and tossed the foaming mass over Wildrider's roof.

"Oh, I get it!" Wildrider could hear the Autobots now – the distant rumble of an engine as someone turned into the street, though they weren't going nearly as fast as he had done. "Quick, more!"

Geri threw more soap over his trunk. A blanket of white foam streamed down over grey armor and red glass and vanity plate. She grabbed a brush from the garage and knelt down, feeling for one of his tires and pretending to clean out the treads as Bumblebee drove by.

The yellow VW slowed, then came to a stop just past Geri's house. Wildrider braced himself for a fight. He'd been spotted, despite everything Geri had done, and even though the other 'bots were nowhere in sight – they'd probably split up to cover more ground – Bumblebee was probably radioing for help at that moment.

A window of the VW slid down and a human looked out.

"What's happening?" Geri said quietly.

"The minibot's stopped and some brat who hangs out with them is staring at us," Wildrider whispered. The Autobots usually had one or more of the pests tagging along with them, though he couldn't imagine what they saw in the little fraggers.

"A guy? How old is he?"

"I dunno – thirteen, twenty? I can't tell with humans."

"Oh." Geri got up, wiping her soapy hands on her shorts, and strolled over to her lawn chair. Bumblebee reversed a few feet, and the human leaned out a little further. Wildrider thought they were both angling for a better look at him, but he realized in the next moment that the human's attention was on Geri instead.

"Hi," he called out. "You seen a grey Ferrari go down this road? It would've been driving really fast."

Geri straightened up, hands going to her hips as her shoulders arched back in a catlike stretch. The soaked fabric of her T-shirt clung to them.

"Sorry," she said with a smile. "I haven't seen a thing." Wildrider stifled a laugh.

"No prob. Didn't mean to bother you." The human waved and the two of the them drove off. Geri kept smiling in their general direction until the last sound of Bumblebee's engine died away, and then she hurried back to Wildrider.

"Any more of them?" she said.

Wildrider restarted his engine, checked his radar and sent a quick message to Motormaster over the radio. "Nope. All clear. Well done, kiddo!"

Geri slumped against his door. "Yay." She shook her head. "I can't believe I got involved in this again. Well, you're safe now, so go on before my dad gets back from his game."

"Uh… no, I can't. My tire's busted. Can you change it?"

For a human with malfunctioning optics, Geri could still glare; _maybe because she does it with her whole face,_ Wildrider thought. "Do I look like a mechanic?"

Wildrider sighed. "Okay, tire's out. Can you finish washing me then?"

"…See, this is why I don't hang out with you more often. That and the whole 'Decepticons will kill me if they catch us' part."

"Aw c'mon, kiddo. At least rinse me off, otherwise the soap'll dry and then I'll look funny. 'Sides, I got hit by about a million laserbolts and I don't feel so good. A bath would kinda help there." Geri looked as though she was softening; any mention of injuries to him did that, and since she couldn't see anything, Wildrider was free to exaggerate whatever wounds he had taken. He decided to throw in the clincher. "And if you give me a bath, I'll give you one too."

That didn't have the desired effect. "_What_? No. Don't even think about it."

"Huh? I'd just be returning the favor."

"That's one favor I don't need returned. Let's not get into how weird and – and disturbing that sounds."

"Weird and disturbing?" Under any other circumstances Wildrider would have been pleased, since he enjoyed freaking humans out. "I don't get it. It's not like bathing's private. Humans bathe all over the place – there are bathrooms everywhere, and I've seen humans go into those with their friends."

"Never mind. I'll wash you off and then I'm going inside before the neighbors think I'm taking part in a wet T-shirt contest."

"Turn the spray down a little," Wildrider said. "Yeah, that's it. To the right, down a bit. Mmmm… you've done this before, haven't you?"

"Stop that," Geri said, though the corners of her mouth twitched and he knew she was trying not to smile. She played the flow of water over his roof and hood for a few minutes, then went to turn the tap off.

Feeling a little better, Wildrider settled down on his three remaining tires and checked his HUD. His self-repair system had sealed off most of the leaks from the lasershots, but being with Geri helped too. He enjoyed the attention and although she was physically weak even compared to humans, he knew she would have stood up to any Autobot to defend him.

He started to ask if she could dry him off – she was sure to refuse at first, but a little coaxing had worked so far – when something pinged on his radar. The rush of water stopped. Suddenly he heard the thunder of a powerful engine and the crunch as something was flattened under eighteen wheels.

"Frag, it's the boss! _Hide!"_

Geri looked around desperately, then dropped to the ground and rolled beneath him. Wildrider stayed where he was as the huge semi stopped on the road, hoping that Motormaster wouldn't ask why he was dripping with water. Or, for that matter, drive straight through the house. He really hadn't expected the Stunticon leader to show up so soon.

"Can't you move?" Motormaster said irritably.

"Tire's blown." Wildrider said nothing about the laser damage; that was par for the course. "Engine's sprung a leak too."

Motormaster drove forward a few feet, slid open the rear doors on his trailer and let the ramp down with a clang. "Megatron's called a retreat," he said. "Hurry the frag up!"

"Hold still, kiddo," Wildrider said softly. He wasn't sure whether to reverse slowly and risk Motormaster looking back to see what was taking so long, or reverse fast and risk hurting Geri somehow. Fortunately Motormaster was distracted as one of the Aerialbots shot past overhead, and Wildrider managed to roll away without touching Geri. He backed in up the ramp. The last thing he saw before the trailer closed and Motormaster roared off down the street was Geri sitting up, covered in soapsuds and dust and engine oil.

_She really needs a bath_, he thought and settled down to recharge.

* * *

**Peacewish :** Glad you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll make the next one as humorous as possible too. Coming up with the jokes is as much fun as watching readers enjoy them. :)

Though I really want to write something dark and serious now, just to counter that…

**Taipan Kiryu :** There's a lot I need to learn about film-making. :) Especially the parts about concealing rhe cameras and allowing the actors to believe that they're not actually being filmed. It would work brilliantly for a more modern-day movie. Heck, that way you might even be able to capture Breakdown on film, something I don't believe any human has ever done in my 'verse.

Skywarp was just messing with the humans – Dead End's not in love with him. In fact, given Dead End's emotional range, he'd find it difficult if not impossible to care about anyone outside his team. Breakdown's pretty much the same way: he's very loyal to his teammates, but he couldn't care less what happened to anyone else. They're both very insular that way (though Dead End and Skywarp _would_ be lovely together, red and black and purple).

Wildrider and Drag Strip, on the other hand, do have friendships outside the team, though not with any of the Seekers – the Stunticons are way too low in the 'con pecking order for that. But hey, indulge your imagination to its fullest. I always do with mine!

**Tugera :** Drag Strip and Starscream do have a lot in common. They're both ambitious, self-centered pains in the aft, though they happen to be very good at what they _can_ do.

**Fire From Above :** The gossip, squee-worthy though it might be, leaves the humans Not Amused when they realize it's a prank. Hence the next installment of the story…

Thanks for the review!


	17. Interlude: By Hook or by Crook

_Chapter 17 summary : Hook and his attitude visit the sets. Continued from Chapter 15.  
_

* * *

**17. Interlude: By Hook or by Crook**

_Rules of Conduct on the Sets_

_by Stephanie Kain_

While filming is in progress, do not heckle the actors.

While filming is in progress, if you are being heckled either over your radio or by facial expressions and gestures, please do not interrupt the scene. Make a report to me or see me once the cameras stop rolling.

While filming is in progress, if you believe you have spotted either Decepticon activity or Autobots watching us, please do not make a loud general announcement. In case of a Decepticon approach, confirm this first and then report it to me. In case of Autobot proximity, confirm this and ignore it.

Whether filming is in progress or not, WEAPONS WILL NOT BE DRAWN while on the sets or within fifty meters of them. Yes, we have security cameras hooked up to a video feed. Yes, Bonecrusher watches it.

The light intensity, angles of ramps, amounts of explosives, etc. are adequate for our needs. These are NOT to be tampered with. Any questions about this should be directed to either the Constructicons or myself.

Practical jokes will NOT be tolerated. And if they damage the sets, you'll have Long Haul to deal with.

Breaking the fourth wall shall be treated as damage to the sets, only worse.

Fliers will refrain from skywriting if there is any chance that the sky will be captured on film. Please do not write provocative messages at any other time.

Do not attempt to slip the names of your friends into the script (e.g. turning "Then I defy you, stars!" into "Then I defy you, Starscream!"). If you wish to make any changes to the script, please discuss it with me first.

Anyone whose scenes have been filmed and whose character has died (e.g. Wildrider) is free to leave, for good.

Please refrain from solicitation. "For a good time, call 1-900-SKYWARP" counts as both solicitation and graffiti. On the off-chance that this was not written by Skywarp, it's libel (and still graffiti).

In the original script, Romeo and Juliet interfaced off-screen. This film will not be changing that.

Subliminal messages will not be inserted into the film at any time.

Props are NOT to be removed from the sets. Any that are found on eBay can and will be traced back to you.

The producer reserves the right to add to this list as necessary. Please do not attempt to influence any of these rules through bribes, threats or other methods.

* * *

"Long Haul is a terrible actor," Drag Strip said.

By then, Stephanie was tired of mediating quarrels, and Long Haul couldn't have cared less about his thespian skills anyway. He was the chief set designer and production manager and that was all he wanted. So she leaned against the stepladder on which the television was mounted, and said nothing.

Drag Strip didn't take kindly to being ignored, so he bent down to make sure she couldn't miss him. "Stephanie, he's phoning it in. Have you even watched the dailies?"

_I never thought I'd be sorry to see the day that my cast picked up filmmaking terminology._ Stephanie turned to look up at the screen, deciding not to point out that as the producer and editor, she watched the raw footage so many times that she saw it in her sleep.

The huge compound was more or less divided into two – the sets and the scene shop, where Long Haul and his sector of the crew built models, constructed sets, stored equipment, repaired props and worked on the special effects. Tony had made it very clear that unless either Autobots or Decepticons were actually in a scene, he didn't want them on the sets proper. So on top of all Stephanie's other responsibilities, she was saddled with the thankless duty of keeping her actors entertained while they weren't actively rehearsing or performing.

She had come up with the idea of showing them the dailies, the unedited footage that was shot each day. In theory, watching those was supposed to give the cast a springboard for discussing and improving their performances. In reality, it just gave them more ways to start arguments.

"I mean, look at him!" Drag Strip gestured at the television set that Stephanie had put up on the stepladder for them to watch. "He's saying that his wife deactivated and he sounds like he's complaining about a pebble in his joint."

"No, he's not." Scavenger was loyal as usual, and Stephanie braced herself for the disagreement to escalate. It didn't matter that none of the Autobots were present; the Decepticons simply fought with each other under those circumstances. "It's just that you can't see too many emotions on someone with a faceplate, that's all."

Wildrider giggled. "Maybe he should hold up cards with frowny faces on them."

"Hey, he's been working really hard to--" Scavenger stopped, his optic band brightening.

Stephanie knew at once that something was wrong. "Scavenger? What is it?"

After a moment that felt much longer than it should have been, he turned and looked down at her. "That was Bonecrusher. He says the prox detectors at the fence picked up a 'con signature." He hesitated. "It's Hook."

"Oh. Who's Hook?"

Like Long Haul, Scavenger didn't really have a face, but the shovel that extended behind him like a tail twitched occasionally – and the other Decepticons had gone quiet. "Hook's one of my team," he said, and although he didn't sound afraid, he didn't speak as though the new arrival was a cause for celebration either. "He's our surgical engineer."

_Oh, another Constructicon. _Stephanie relaxed a little. She got along with the Constructicons – they seemed far more into building things than destroying them. _Maybe this Hook wants to watch a film being made. Whatever the reason he's here, though, it'll be a nice distraction for the rest of them_.

So she thumbed her walkie-talkie to Bonecrusher's frequency. "Could you bring him around to the scene shop? Take the long way there – Tony's rehearsing with the 'bots and won't want to be disturbed."

It was also to prevent Hook from seeing any of the Autobots. Even though their involvement was now a more or less open secret, she knew that once the news reached the Decepticon commanders (which Dead End assured her would happen any day now), her crew and the Autobots would be lucky to escape with their lives.

Long Haul loathed the Autobots, but he was even less keen on the idea of no one ever seeing his masterpiece because half the actors were destroyed. With that in mind, he and the Constructicons excavated, braced and concealed a simple system of tunnels beneath the sets, then informed her that the 'bots could scurry into those at the first sign of trouble. "Like the cowardly little turbo-rats that they are," Bonecrusher put it.

Insults aside, Stephanie liked the idea, since the Decepticons would bring sky and ground troops in force but weren't likely to expect anything below the earth. She asked Long Haul how he had come up with that plan and he muttered something about an attempt to take over New York.

"You want Hook _here_?" Drag Strip didn't sound too pleased.

"What else can I do – leave him outside the fence?" Stephanie knew very well that no Decepticon would simply accept that and go away. She cut the transmission and looked up at Dead End. "Shouldn't you have noticed him long before he got here? You're the one with the combat radar."

"I am, but what's your point? There's no combat here to speak of. And when there is, my radar won't get any of us out of it."

Stephanie let it drop; Dead End was convinced that the Stunticon leader would descend on them at any moment like a meteorite out of a clear sky, and whether or not his prediction of doom would come true, she didn't have the time to deal with it. Long Haul emerged from one of the large soundproofed sheds where the crew could work on the sets in peace and came to join them.

"Hook's here?" he said.

Long Haul had no facial expressions to speak of, but the tone of his voice set Stephanie on edge. Plus, he didn't seem pleased at the idea of another Constructicon coming to watch their work. Before she could ask him what the problem was, though, Bonecrusher trundled into view, raising a cloud of dust as he approached.

Beside him was a large green crane with a purple cab. It stopped about twenty feet from them and tilted back on to legs that unfolded from its undercarriage, the crane swinging to the rear. The combination of purple torso, red optics and green arms might have seemed garish by itself, Stephanie thought, but since all the Constructicons shared those colors, the overall effect looked normal and uniform instead.

_And he even has a face. _She felt a little disappointed that she hadn't met him before the casting had begun; it hadn't been easy, trying to capture emotion on film when so many of the actors seemed to have masks or faceplates.

Hook didn't seem to have noticed any of them, though. He looked around closely at the scene shop, stared at the piles of lumber and equipment, then seemed to be studying the huge cutaway front of the crypt with its hydraulics concealed in the beautifully sculpted tombs. Long Haul had put the final touches to the structure that morning, and was nearly ready to move it to the other side of the compound to film the last scene.

All the Decepticons were watching Hook, as if waiting for him to do something, so that gave Stephanie a chance to step forward. She stopped at what she judged was enough of a distance from Hook to be safe for her and to appear respectful to him, then looked up.

"Hello," she said, raising her voice to be heard. "I'm Stephanie Kain, the producer. Is there anything in particular that you would like to see, or that you'd like to know about our film?"

There was no reply. Hook continued to look slowly around.

Stephanie felt at a loss. No point in using her megaphone, since this 'con had heard her – he just wasn't answering. She started to feel foolish, standing out there alone and being ignored, but after a few moments longer, Hook turned and fixed the other Constructicons with a cold look.

"Which of you is responsible for this ramshackle travesty?" he said, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the crypt.

Bonecrusher and Scavenger immediately looked at Long Haul, who drew himself up to his full height. "These are my designs," he said, "based on, uh, 15th-century Italian architecture. And they ain't ramshackle!"

"Oh, please." Hook's voice dripped disdain. "That staircase which wraps around the walls? It cuts the vertical elevation of the room in two. The lack of natural light thanks to that structure not having windows… well, I suppose you use more electricity to compensate? And your cantilevers won't take anyone's weight. No, wait, perhaps they'll withstand Rumble. In cassette mode."

_The hell?_ Stephanie thought. _They can't be _that_ bad!_ The rest of the cast seemed to trust Long Haul's expertise implicitly, so she had done the same. It hadn't occurred to her that there could be anything wrong with his designs – they looked vaguely like their counterparts from the Zeffirelli version of _Romeo and Juliet_, except scaled up to Transformer size and adapted so fliers as well as cars could use them easily. And she had been very pleased with some of his modifications.

Hook, on the other hand, looked as though he had never seen anything more disappointing in his life.

Long Haul made a staticky strangled noise, then seemed to regain control of his voice. "The cantilevered terrace is to look at, not sit on!" he said. "And – and the rest? The staircase needs to be there 'cause the whole room's on hydraulics. It transforms from the Capulet mansion to the Capulet crypt – sinks down into the ground and a ramp emerges."

"Symbolic, you see," Stephanie put in. One of the crew had suggested it, but Long Haul had implemented it. "That's one reason it doesn't have windows--"

"Let me see the blueprints," Hook said to Long Haul.

"What? No."

Hook held out a hand. "That wasn't a request."

"And that wasn't a yes." Long Haul folded his arms. "You can order me about when we're all working on a project, Hook. But I got here first, so this one's mine!"

Hook dropped his hand, but his optics narrowed to red slivers. "Then I'll inform Megatron that the lot of you are working with the Autobots."

_What?_ Stephanie's mouth went dry and she glanced at the other Decepticons, hoping none of them would say anything before she had a chance to work out what to do. Given that she was beneath Hook's attention, she couldn't say anything, but to her relief Long Haul spoke up.

"Autobots?" he said. He really wasn't a very good actor, Stephanie thought; Scavenger could have said that more convincingly. "What Autobots?"

"Oh, don't bother playing the innocent." Hook reached up to his chest and something appeared in his hand; no matter how many times she saw that happen, Stephanie was fascinated by it. "If you're not fraternizing with the Autobots, what's this for?"

He tossed the object he held at Drag Strip. Even before that, though, Stephanie knew what it was – Fireflight's gyrocompass.

"This was an Autobot's," Hook said smugly.

"No slag," Drag Strip said. "And now it's mine. I took it as a trophy."

"You should have taken his CPU, then I could have replaced yours with it." Hook transformed, ignoring Drag Strip's retort. Stephanie could hardly hear it either, since she had no idea what Hook would do next. Drive straight through the sets he seemed to dislike so much?

Instead, he reversed thirty feet. The crane over his alt-mode tilted and the hook at its end fitted into an iron loop that protruded from the sandy ground.

"Slag," Long Haul whispered, and Stephanie heard the whine of gears and machinery as his fingers opened and closed.

Hook drove forward. The line snapped taut and there was a sharp _click_ of metal on metal. The iron ring, snagged neatly on his hook, rose and pulled the rest of the trapdoor with it, revealing the mouth of a concealed bolthole.

Hook's body unfolded, the crane going back over his shoulders as his body straightened up. His wheels fitted along his arms and he twisted around in a single smooth movement.

"What is the purpose of_ that_, if not to hide Autobots?" he said. "Feel free to make up something, Long Haul. I'm sure your creativity in that regard is unparalleled, as opposed to your expertise when it comes to architecture."

Long Haul's optic band looked as though it was about to melt off his face. Hook smiled, very slightly, and held out his hand.

"The blueprints."

Long Haul cast a single agonized glance at Bonecrusher, who twitched a shoulder in an almost imperceptible shrug. Stephanie saw it and her heart sank. No one, not even the Stunticons, messed with Bonecrusher – not only did he enjoy fighting, but he always had Scavenger and Long Haul backing him up, as well as someone called Devastator (who Stephanie hadn't yet seen). But it was evident that he wasn't going to defy Hook.

Shoulders slumping, Long Haul produced a neatly rolled set of blueprints and handed them over. Hook lost even his small supercilious smile as he took the prints between thumb and forefinger.

"Why aren't you using three-dimensionals?" he said, looking down at the prints as if they were dripping with slime. "And why are these so small?"

"Because my crew needs to see them," Long Haul muttered to his feet.

"You don't need a crew. We can handle this – the organics will only get in the way." Hook unfolded the blueprints, then drew rapidly on them with a stylus, slashing lines through the drawings. "Next time, use a three-d projection," he said after a few moments.

"We made scale models," Long Haul said, still without looking up.

"And set Cybertronian engineering back fifty thousand vorn. Right." Hook held the blueprints out. "Those are the corrections we're going to make… for now."

Stephanie decided that this had gone on long enough. "That's very kind of you," she said loudly and clearly. "We'll take some time to go over the changes you've suggested. Perhaps you'd like to have some energon while--"

"We'll start with that," Hook said, gesturing at the crypt. "Bonecrusher, take down sections A-12 to A-15. Long Haul, get ready to remove the rubble. Scavenger--"

"Wait, you can't demolish the sets!"

"--get anyone who isn't a Constructicon out of the site."

Stephanie glanced around desperately for help, but the Constructicons looked as though they were about to obey, albeit reluctantly, and the Stunticons just watched her with avid interest. She swung her megaphone up to her mouth. "Look, even if there are problems with Long Haul's sets – which is by no means a given – we don't have the time to make changes. We're filming the last scene tomorrow."

"Bonecrusher," Hook said, "I'm waiting."

Bonecrusher transformed. He did it slowly, but he did it nonetheless, caterpillar treads settling down against the ground and the wide U-blade positioned in front. Stephanie watched the bulldozer with dread, and even Drag Strip took a cautious step backward.

"Hook," Long Haul said, "even if there are problems with my sets – which is by no means a given – we don't have the time to make changes. We're filming the last scene tomorrow."

"Your filming can wait until we're finished. Now, about this sub-par material you've been using for the roads… Scavenger, how much iron do you have in stock? Perhaps Mixmaster could suggest something--"

"_No!_" Long Haul all but wailed.

Stephanie felt like wailing too; the situation was quickly spiraling out of control. "We can't delay filming!" she said. "Each day that the cast and crew are here costs money. And there's only one scene left, so get the hell out and let us finish it."

"We can't delay filming," Long Haul said. "Each day that the cast and crew are here costs money. And there's only one scene left, so… yeah, what she said."

"It doesn't matter," Hook said firmly. "The Constructicons have never been associated with shoddy work."

"Really?" Stephanie said. "Does that go for the gun you mounted on the top of the Empire State Building as well?"

Hook spun around, optic band glowing red. "That was controlled by…" He seemed to realize that he had acknowledged the existence of a human, and looked away. "Bonecrusher! Begin demolition!"

Stephanie took a step backward, then another. It was a retreat, and she hated to look weak before Hook, but what else could she do? Long Haul stood watching, his hands twisting together as Bonecrusher rolled forward with grinding, ponderous grace.

"Can't you make him stop?" she whispered to Long Haul.

He shook his head despairingly. 'Only ones Hook'll listen to are Megatron and Scrapper, our foremech."

"Stay back, everyone," Scavenger called out.

Stephanie backpedaled again, though she couldn't look away from the sight before her. The last scene of the film had to be shot the next day – Juliet's death, the climactic battle and Benvolio's confession before Tybalt's corpse – and they needed the crypt for that. She couldn't ask the Autobots to stop Hook, because that would divide her cast up nicely, and the Decepticons were evidently unwilling to get in his way.

_Then give him something else to do,_ she thought.

She thumbed her walkie-talkie to Long Haul's frequency and spoke very quietly. "You said Hook is a surgical engineer. Does that mean he does surgery?"

"Yeah, repairs an' all. Why?"

Stephanie explained swiftly, switched to another frequency and did the same. Then she turned the walkie-talkie off and waited. Bonecrusher reached the crypt in a cloud of dust, picking up speed as he did so.

"_You!_" Long Haul howled. Everyone started and whirled to look at him as he pointed a shaking finger at Drag Strip. "This is all your fault! I'm going to kill you!"

He transformed, the truck bed fitting together over his head and torso. His wheels thumped down, already spinning, but Drag Strip was faster. In alt-mode at once, he raced past Bonecrusher, cutting it so close that Stephanie heard a forcefield hiss softly. Long Haul nearly overbalanced as he made a hairpin turn to give chase.

Bonecrusher stopped in his tracks, transforming to stare after them, and Hook's superior expression changed to one of astonishment as the yellow racecar disappeared around the side of the largest shed. Long Haul plunged after him, still yelling threats and curses in a garbled mixture of English and Cybertronian.

There was a thunderous crash. Someone screamed, but the sound was lost beneath the landslide rumble of falling machinery. Above the roof of the shed, Stephanie saw a great gout of smoke rising into the sky as Hook hurried to see what had happened. Since all the other Decepticons followed him at speed, she would have been crushed in the stampede, so she kicked off her high heels and ran around the other side of the shed, ignoring the hot sand against her feet.

Long Haul lay in a crumpled heap under a pile of dislodged i-beams, smoke trailing up from them. His limbs twitched occasionally and feebly. In the distance, Drag Strip was a yellow speck vanishing into a cloud of dust.

"We'll get him for you!" Wildrider transformed and shot off like a bullet, and Dead End followed in seconds. The roar of engines and exuberant screams faded even as Hook yelled at them to come back. Shaking his head with evident disgust, he went to help Long Haul.

* * *

"I filmed all of it," Swindle said, beaming down at Stephanie.

"Oh, how nice. More footage for the blooper reels."

"Yes, and you can have it for a very reasonable price--" He stopped as her walkie-talkie chimed, and she lifted it to her ear.

Tony's voice came over the receiver, sounding pleased. "We're done with the last rehearsal," he said. "Sideswipe suggested he try to physically drag Fireflight away at the end, but when we tried it they both lost their balance and fell over. So we're sticking to the original plan."

Stephanie glanced at Hook. "Yes, that's pretty much what we're doing, too."

"Other than that, they were fine. What about you? I heard there was a small problem…"

"I've checked your systems twice now," Hook said testily. He was crouched over Long Haul's prone body with a scanner in one hand; the other flipped open panels and traced circuits with practiced skill. "There's nothing wrong apart from a few dents that your self-repair systems will take care of."

"But I'm in agony." Long Haul's voice was a moan. Scavenger knelt, murmuring reassurances and lifted his gestaltmate's head carefully into his lap. Long Haul looked up at him with a pathetically grateful expression, as if he was starving to death and Scavenger had just given up an energon ration for him.

"Stop coddling him!" Hook said irritably. "I told you, there's nothing wrong!"

"But I've got this shooting pain down all the diodes in my left side. Please, Hook, can't you do a Level 3 scan?" The light in Long Haul's optics flickered on and off and Hook sighed.

"Oh, very well," he said. "But we'll have to take you to the ship for that. Scavenger, Bonecrusher, help him up and carry him back. I'll go ahead and prep the medical bay."

Stephanie smiled, and spoke into her walkie-talkie. "Oh, the problem's been taken care of. When he has the right motivation, Long Haul is a terrific actor."

_The story continues in Chapter 19..._


	18. At the Beach

_Chapter summary : This is why Motormaster does the paperwork himself. This is also what would happen if the Stunticons had a text-messaging system._

_

* * *

_**18. At the Beach: Paperwork**

**From : Motormaster**

**To : Drag Strip**

I want a report on the mission you just completed. Megatron expects it within an hour's time.

**From : Drag Strip**

**To : Motormaster**

Hah. I can have it ready in ten minutes.

**From : Motormaster**

**To : Drag Strip**

Only because you've started keeping a journal of what little you manage to do. I don't know what use that is to the rest of us, unless the 'bots read it and die laughing. Fine, get the report to me in ten minutes.

_Five minutes later…_

**From : Drag Strip**

**To : Motormaster**

_Location : Secondary oil collection site, edge of Ross Sea, Antarctica_

_Objective : Intercept Aerialbot offensive and ensure that oil drainage proceeds_

I and my teammates traveled to the shores of the Ross Sea in Astrotrain, who informed us that he would be opening the hull while we were still about twenty thousand feet above ground level. He said that would give us a chance to observe the location before the Aerialbots arrived, though I know he was just saying that because the polar icecap wouldn't hold his weight.

So we were ejected like so much excess baggage. We all hit our thrusters and floated down to the shelf of very cold ice that jutted out into the very cold sea. Astrotrain elected not to freeze his afterburners off, and flew away.

The oil collection system the Constructicons built is much like an iceberg – most of it below the surface of the ice with only the drainage ducts above the surface for easy tapping. I'd have made it much more camouflaged. I'd also have someone permanently stationed there – the Combaticons, maybe – to defend it.

Yes, there's a reason we're at the _secondary_ collection site, rather than at the no-longer-existing primary one.

Anyway, there we were. Extremely heavy, slow and unmaneuverable weights are a liability on the ice, so it was just the four of us. We had additives in our gas tanks to stop our fuel freezing, plus engine insulation and snow tires and what-have-you, but it was still incredibly cold. Not to mention dull. Breakdown said a few humans live there – he was watching out for them – but I said they should just blast the whole giant ice cube apart and build a proper floating station instead. Only goes to show how dumb they are.

Wildrider tried to catch a penguin, while Dead End sat on the beach and moaned about how we were all going to freeze to death. So I both spotted the approaching Aerialbots and suggested a plan of action – in other words, shoot them before they could shoot us. Breakdown thanked me and said he didn't know how the team could function without me.

It's nice to be appreciated.

The Aerialbots couldn't maintain a formation because of a strong wind blowing off the polar plateau. I made sure that we kept a huge ridge of ice at our backs, to shelter us from the wind, but even my tactics were foiled by the wind sweeping sheets of ice crystals before it, cutting visibility. I still loosed off shot after accurate shot, but the Aerialbots stayed out of range and tried to target the oil collection pipes that ran from the sea bed and just under the shore.

I decided to distract them. My distinctive paintjob made me an easy target, even through the glittering wind, but my speed would more than compensate for that. With my usual skill, I raced away from the collection pipes, twisting and weaving on the slippery surface of the ice.

One of the Aerialbots immediately peeled away to track me. This still left four of them for the others to deal with. And without my presence, I didn't think my teammates stood much of a chance – especially when a human patrol ship sailed up to the shore and its crew started firing on us as well.

A flash of inspiration struck me. "_Quick, Wildrider!_" I said over the radio as I continued to dodge and swerve on the ice shore. "_You're the only one who'll be nearly unseen in the water. Swim out to the ship!"_

He obeyed at once. I've noticed that Wildrider responds well to natural authority.

"_If we can just distract the Aerialbots until it's dark…_" Breakdown said hopefully.

"_That wouldn't work._" Making a daring hairpin turn, I raced back to my waiting teammates. _"The seasons are unnaturally elongated here. It'll only be dark again in three months' time."_

"_I didn't realize that_," Breakdown said. "_Thanks, Drag Strip. You're always so prepared for whatever happens."_

"_If there's any way out of this, _you_ can find it_," Dead End agreed. _"Now please help us defend the drainage ducts!"_

That was the work of a moment for me. Working under my direction, Dead End simply fired at a nearby mountain of ice. Tons of it rumbled down over the collection ducts, creating the perfect cover for us. Meanwhile, Wildrider had clambered on board the patrol ship and was happily chucking the crew overboard. Those of the crew who didn't jump off the moment they saw him, anyway.

The engagement was all but over. Perhaps if the Aerialbots had combined, it might have been a little more of a challenge for me. As it was, though, it seems evident that my taking charge of the situation was a significant improvement to the way such missions are normally handled--

**From : Dead End**

**To : Drag Strip**

Would you mind keeping the noise down? I'm trying to recharge.

**From : Drag Strip**

**To : Dead End**

And I'm trying to find my left optic, so frag off.

* * *

**From : Motormaster**

**To : Breakdown**

I want a report on the mission you just completed. And it had better not be as shoddy as Drag Strip's, or you'll be next in line for the medical bay.

**From : Breakdown**

**To : Motormaster**

Will anyone else be looking at this report?

**From : Motormaster**

**To : Breakdown**

That's it, I'm on my way over.

**From : Breakdown**

**To : Motormaster**

Nonono, I'm working on it! I'm working on it! I'll have it to you in ten minutes.

_Ten minutes later…_

**From : Breakdown**

**To : Motormaster**

_Location : Secondary oil collection site, edge of Ross Sea, Antarctica _

_Objective : Intercept Aerialbot offensive and ensure that oil drainage proceeds_

…With the oil drainage ducts more or less safe under the fallen slobs of ice, and Wildrider taking care of the human whistle, Dead End and Drag Strip and I fired at the Aerialbots. We scored hits on two as they flew directly overhead, and they took nose-drives inland, behind the huge ridge of ice at our backs.

The ice ridge jutted up to a vertical revelation of at least five hundred feet, so the downed Aerialbots couldn't see us. Dead End monitored them with his radar and reported that they were keeping their distance from us – probably too insured to move. I heard their weapons firing, but the ice ridge's dementions were such that it would take them considerable time to blast through it.

The other two Aerialbots continued to chafe us from a distance until they noticed the human survivors of the rapidly floundering ship. Then they disengaged and flew to the rescue.

Wildrider swam back to us (reporting, "_Wildrider 1, Tyrannic 0_" as he did so), but as he scrambled on to the shore, it shuttered. I knew at once that something was wrong – Wildrider's weight alone couldn't have caused that.

There was a loud crack and the ice shelf lurched forward, making us real. Suddenly I realized what the two Aerialbots had done. They had severed the ice shelf from the rest of the condiment and we were adrift--

**

* * *

From : Motormaster**

**To : Dead End**

I want a report on the mission you just completed. Don't whine or I'll make you swallow your own vocalizer. And if there's anything in the report about how we're all going to die or how pointless this war is, I'll make you swallow the datapad as well.

Because Megatron's going to need it in half an hour's time and he is NOT as patient with you morons as I am.

**From : Dead End **

**To : Wildrider**

This is a waste of time. And just what, precisely, am I expected to write? How the mission was a complete shambles and we ended up on an impromptu island, tapping the oil ourselves just to survive?

**From : Wildrider **

**To : Dead End**

I could take care of that for you.

**From : Dead End **

**To : Wildrider**

Excuse me, but I'd like to clarify that. Are you actually offering to prepare the report?

**From : Wildrider **

**To : Dead End**

Sure! I can do it. I'm not an idiot, you know.

**From : Dead End **

**To : Wildrider**

No, but you're… never mind. Very well. What do you want in return?

**From : Wildrider **

**To : Dead End**

What makes you think I want anything in return? Maybe I'm doing this out of the kindness of my core, to help out a teammate.

**From : Dead End **

**To : Wildrider**

And maybe you want me spread-eagled in your berth.

**From : Wildrider **

**To : Dead End**

Now that you come to mention it, I found a pair of strap-on wings. D'you think you could wear them and pretend to be a Seeker? You can take me prisoner--

**From : Dead End **

**To : Wildrider**

Please. Spare me the sordid details of your fantasies. I'll be there… just complete the paperwork and never, _never_ mention this incident to anyone.

**From : Motormaster**

**To : Dead End and Wildrider**

The two of you are slagged to Cybertron and back! Do you think Megatron can't fragging _read_? Is that why this entire report is done in _drawings_? Soundwave's runts were falling over giggling about the "comic book" you handed in! And these are the stupidest sketches I've ever seen – there's a slagging smiley on Dead End's faceplate! When I get my hands on you--

**From : Dead End **

**To : Wildrider**

I'll forgive the indignity if you did a caricature of him as well.

**From : Wildrider **

**To : Dead End**

Yeah, that's in the sequel.

* * *

**Have a wonderful holiday season, everyone! And a happy New Year.**

**Taipan Kiryu : **I didn't know that actors were so sensitive when it came to watching the unedited footage, but that makes sense. Whenever someone takes a photograph of me, I have to see it and make sure I look OK in it, so it must be much worse when it comes to film that millions of people will potentially see.

The Constructicons are the closest thing to a family the 'cons have, IMO, but like any family, they're not going to agree at times. And Hook is far too used to getting his own way. I suppose someone who once carved up Optimus Prime like a Thanksgiving turkey isn't going to take any slag from his teammates.

Though now I'd really like to see a story where Scrapper and Hook clash. Scrapper doesn't seem like the easily irritated type, but he's still the leader of the team.

Glad you enjoyed "Bathtime" too. :) It's always fun to throw a Wildrider-shaped monkey wrench into Geri's proper and polite world.

**Tugera :** Thanks! I have to admit, when I watch the episodes on YouTube, I frequently pause to watch exactly how the transformation sequences occur. If there's a slow-motion feature, I would be working it to death.

**demonicSuperCow** : Thanks for the review! And it's good to have enough time to write again. :)

**Peacewish :** Smartest thing Stephanie did was to outsource the set design to a 'con. Make them believe that something is _theirs_, rather than a human's or a bot's, and they'll fight tooth and nail for it.

Like all 'cons, Wildrider is a master of the double standard. If a human helps him, that human is an intelligent, useful person. If a human helps a 'bot, that human is vermin. And yes, he's not going to be pleased if Geri's too busy spending time with a boyfriend to hang out with him. Damn, now that's giving me even more ideas…

**dfastback68 : **Haha, when Motormaster arrives, he won't be alone. He's powerful, but he's not going to risk taking on all those 'bots (and possibly all the 'cons except his own team) by himself.

I'm glad you liked the interlude! It was fun to write about the Constructicons - especially from Stephanie's point of view, since there's still so much she doesn't know or realize about the 'cons. It'll be interesting to see what she does when Motormaster shows up.

**Kookaburra **: As it is, Wildrider sees humans as an inferior form of life. Imagine what he'd think (_if_ he thought) about what they really do in the bathroom. :)

**tomorrow4eva :** Thanks! :) The culture clashes are the best part of writing fics where TFs interact with humans, especially when the TF has their own strange take on reality.

**Fire From Above** : One reason Wildrider and Geri get along well is because (without realizing it, of course) they both think the same way about each other. "He/she is insane/blind but fortunately I'm here to look out for him/her". :)


End file.
